#why is there so much bark. how thick is your gauge. why is there a wire on your oboe reed.

[supercantaloupe]

the new grad oboist in orchestra is british and he makes short scrape reeds. so unfortunately i will not be able to glean any wisdom from him re: reedmaking i’m still basically on my own

[kittlesandbugs]

Title: The return (AO3 Link here) Pairing: Past Chargestep Warnings: Violence, telepathic shenanigans, embracing villainy Word Count: 2533 Summary: Something wicked returns to Los Diablos.  (Steel POV)

"That's a little unusual these days, isn't it?"   Ortega gestures to the weekly stack of police reports on the conference table, twice as thick as it normally is. "It's been quiet."

"Too quiet," Argent adds. Her silver face shifts into a scowl and her fingers carve shallow scratches into the table. 

"Claws," you say sharply and she retracts them, scowl deepening. You nod to Ortega. "It is definitely unusual."

He leans in close. Both of them are too eager for a fight. "So what's going on?"

You peel the first folder off the pile and flip it open, textured fingertips catching the thin paper easily. You're pleased the fine motor control is almost what it was since you lost your arm. "Grand theft auto.  A string of car hijackings from Reno to Los Diablos."

The car engine gives one last dying shudder as it comes to a halt. Loud swears sound off to no one. Not a lack of fuel this time, the gauge reads half full. Smoke trickling from the engine.  Sand probably. Someone didn't keep up on maintenance. Swear again. Nothing to do but wait. Can't cross this desert on foot.

It isn't as long as expected before another car crests the horizon. Reach out, mental tendrils seeking, prying, slipping in through the barest defenses. The driver has no intention of stopping. Been a victim of bandits before. A low chuckle. It's funny he thinks he has a choice in the matter as control is ripped away and he's forced to stop beside the dead car and get out.

This car is his problem now.

"Someone coming into town?" Argent asks.

"Looks that way." You make a low noncommittal grunt as you continue reading into a strange twist that explains why the police are stumped.

"What is it? I know that look." Ortega gets up and comes around behind you to read as well. "Well, that's just weird."

"What?" Argent perks up.

"The owners were all found with the previous car in the chain, left dead on the side of the road."

"The car was dead, not the owner," Ortega clarifies quickly. "Either dead engine or out of gas. No memory of who took their car or how they ended up sleeping inside a different one."

"Drugs?"

"Maybe," you say, but you aren't convinced that's the case. It's too neat. At least one of them should have remembered something. Or someone.

"Traffic cams catch anything?" Argent asks.

"No, all the cars were found on smaller roads. They took a much longer route, small back roads. No where they could have been recorded." 

She wilts at that. Either it was due to lack of money and expensive privately maintained road tolls, or not wanting to be seen. Probably the latter.

"All cars are on their way back to their original owners. No injuries reported."

She slumps further and rests her chin in her hand. "Sounds like the problem is already resolved. Need more than that to find someone."

Ortega takes his seat again. "What's next?"

You put the carjacking file aside and open the second one. "Thefts at hotels."

"Hotels?  Stealing the towels?"

"Less physical, more service theft. Disputed bookings. Businessmen charging an extra room while swearing they did not.  The hotels have records and recordings saying they're legitimate charges."

"Sounds like they got caught with a 'companion' and are trying to cover it up." His mouth widens into a salacious grin, and you roll your eyes at his wink.

"When shown the evidence, they claimed they have no memory of it. They only remember going to their rooms after checking in and heading straight to bed."

Wipe the bile and stand on shaky legs. Smiling despite the dizziness, a bark of a laugh slips out. The Farm will regret what it did. So much stronger now. They have no idea what they've created. Not really. They only got a taste during the escape.

Can't wait to turn it back on them in force. Show them. Never be at their mercy again. They won't get any either. No one will. If there's no mercy for abominations, there's even less for their creators. For those that enabled them.

Walk in through the service entrance. Nothing to be seen by people. Nothing to be identified by camera. The door card is right where he left it in the lock. A good night's sleep in a clean bed. Be gone before morning. Takes a few days to get set up with a new apartment. But there's no shortage of hotels in this city. No shortage of weak-minded assholes to take advantage of.

They all deserve it for what they've done. What they haven't done. What they've forgotten about.

What's to come will be unforgettable.

Argent taps her chin in thought. "No memory? Like the carjacking victims?"

"Seems that way."  She's quick. Not that you ever doubted it with her recommendation from Ashfall, but there's much more in there than just the brutal fighter she shows. "I don't think it's drugs. In either case." You meet Ortega's gaze, and he nods warily.

"Sounds a lot like Overlord, doesn't it?" He lets out a stiff breath. "Isn't he still in prison?"

"As far as I'm aware, he is. It may be someone new."

"Shame we don't still have your little telepathic friend around to untangle some brains," Argent says with a flippant wave of her hand.

Ortega flinches, but you are pleased to note he doesn't linger on it.  Not outwardly, at least. "Any patterns in the reports that could give us some clues?"

"All the victims were businessmen from out of town. According to the hotel reports, all of them said they needed to book an extra room adjoined to theirs for a 'friend.'  Then they fought the additional charge in the morning when they received the bill."

"And no one knows what this companion looks like. Cameras?" Argent asks.

You pull a set of photographs from the file and spread them out on the table. "No identifying features. Oversized clothes, hood drawn, full-face mask. No prints, the room was wiped clean, and they wore gloves.  Used the service entrance in and out."

"Rather meticulous of them." Ortega's eyes roam across the photos, and Chen can almost see the gears in his head turning. "When and where was the last one?"

"Fairfax, three days ago."

He lets out an impressed whistle, brows rising up. "Fancy.  How long has this been going on?"

"Just over a week. Apparently it's taken a while for the pattern to emerge between the different precincts. Same for the cars."

"They need to get their shit together faster if they want us to get to the bottom of this," Argent growls, fingers digging into the wood once again, and this time you can't bring yourself to scold her because you'd almost like to do the same.

The split between the Rangers and LDPD isn't lost on any of you. You could do so much more for the city without these petty rivalries. You sigh and put the file to the side with the carjacking one. "Maybe the next one will have a new clue for us."

Ortega leans in. "What's going on there?"

"Assaults. Muggings."

"Seriously?" he asks, brows quirked, and you know he's thinking that's too small a fish.

Not wrong normally, but… "Mysterious circumstances."

"Mysterious in that they have no memory of who attacked them, right?" Sarcasm practically drips from Argent's words as she rolls her mercurial eyes. 

"No. Mysterious in that everyone described a different perpetrator."

Fist connects with the asshole's face, making the most satisfying crunch heard in years. Missed this. Needed this. The adrenaline, the rush that only comes from fighting another person. Can fight. Want to fight. Feels more real, the undeniable connection of fist to flesh.

Just gone out for a drink, really. Not at fault these assholes looked and judged. Beneath them.  Nothing. A too familiar feeling.  Salt in unhealed, unseen wounds. It itched and crawled under the skin and inside the hindbrain like trapped angry ants, searching for any way out.  Any release. Maybe it was infectious. Maybe they felt it too, felt the burning need to start something. 

End it. Show them all who's nothing.

His friend comes from behind with a pipe. Duck under his swing like there's eyes in the back of the head. Grab his wrist, twist around, snap his elbow over the shoulder. He sinks to his knees, screaming; silence him with a kick to the head.

Pick the cash from their wallets. Money talks in this city. Don't want to hotel hop forever. Sidestep had compunctions against robbing people, even drug dealing assholes, unless absolutely necessary. But Sidestep is dead, and her morals splattered with her across the pavement four years ago.

Reach into their minds, pliable unconscious clay in proverbial hands, and alter the image of who they fought. Leaving the alley, project the image of someone else entirely.

No one left to see the truth. Or find it.

Ortega frowns and rocks his chair up onto two legs and balances as he thinks. "Like a different instigator at each incident?"

"No. A witness at the bar saw an Asian man leave with the victims. The victims described a young white redheaded man. Another witness saw a bleach-blonde woman leave the alley where they were found.  Similar statements in the other incident reports. No two descriptions are the same."

"You think it's the same person as the other ones?" he asks.

"Could be. Possible memory alterations like the others, but this is the first time anyone's seen a perpetrator."

"Maybe the first one wasn't actually telepathic?  No one even saw a hint of them."

"What, invisibility?" You don't even want to begin to entertain that thought. They would have to know what this criminal wants for certain to set a trap. And so far you can't even begin to figure out what they're after with all of this. If it's even all the same person, but your gut says yes.

People have done weirder things in your tenure as a Ranger.

"Maybe the third one is the odd one out." Argent's claws click a staccato on the table. "Wasn't there a shapeshifter in Los Diablos a few years back? I remember hearing about it on the news."

"Mierda, that one was a nightmare to hunt down and bring in." Ortega drags a hand down his face. "Riley was the only one who could find them because they couldn't change their thoughts."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we kept that part out of the official reports." Ortega lets out a pained little chuckle. "She always insisted on staying out of the spotlight."

"Maybe we can bring in Locus," you muse as you thumb through the pages. Young, but possibly stronger than Sidestep was. Slightly different skill set. "She might be able to unravel whatever's been done to these people."

"If there's anything left to unravel." Ortega's chair finally thuds back down onto all four legs and you suppress the wince. Have to break that habit before you move into the new HQ after construction. "The carjacker and hotel 'friend' weren't even seen by the victims."

"They are very different from the assaults," you admit, "but none of us have the skills to try and unravel any kind of mental manipulations."

Argent grimaces and looks away, out the window. "I hate telepaths."

"Why?" Not that you disagree, not at all. You'll never forget what they're capable of. How they can just dig into your mind and… You shake your head. Not the time to think about that particular nightmare.

"I just do," she says with all the finality of a closed book.

Something to look into later. No chance before between recruiting her and your rehab, but now with things going slowing down a bit… There's a reason her tests were spotless. No one comes back that clean. Not with her reputation in San Francisco.

Again, not the time. You shrug. "We're going to have to bring someone in, regardless of how we feel, if we want to get to the bottom of this."

"Where were the attacks?" Ortega asks.

"Same neighborhoods as the hotels, but not every night. Last one was three days ago, near Fairfax."

"Any motive you can see?"

"Money, apparently. That was the only thing that was taken."

"Well that's… mundane.  All this for money?"

"Maybe if we map out all the activity, we can find a pattern."

"It's as good a plan as any."

"You do that." Argent stands from the table. "I'm going to see if I can find anything in the field."

"Fairfax?" Ortega asks, eyebrow cocked in disbelief. "What are you going to find that the police haven't? Three days cold?"

"I have my methods," she says sharply, tone brooking no further questions.

You don't entirely like it, especially the attitude, but nod regardless. "It's not a bad plan, you'll be faster to react if something else is called in. But report back before you go after anyone. I don't want whoever this is slipping through the net."

She gives a curt nod and shuts the door behind her, hard enough to rattle the frame.

Ortega is already up, a folder balanced open in the crook of one arm, pinning a thumbtack path to the large FEZ map mounted on the wall. You pick up the hotel reports and begin to do the same.

"A potentially telepathic menace arriving from the north…" you muse quietly as you pin in your own points.

He gives you a pained smile. "Takes us back, huh?"

"At least this one isn't killing anyone. Yet."

"Yeah. And they haven't settled into a location."

You take a step back from the map to see if a pattern reveals itself. Something to give you some kind of clue. There's a feeling in your gut, a leadlike dread settling in the pit of your stomach. Whatever, whoever this is, even if they have been quiet for three days, you don't think they're gone.

This could be the start of something. Something big.

Slap the light switch. Cracked plaster, worn carpet, scuffed floors. Windows. A bed. A table. Kitchenette. Not the best. Not the worst. Fine for now. A temporary safehouse. Just until things have settled. More permanent quarters arranged.

The bag hits the carpet with a dull thud. Step in, slide the deadbolt, latch, lock. Manual locks are better than security systems. More solid, at least. Physical and untamperable.  A weight lifts as the last clicks into place.

Pad over to the window and rip the curtain back. The sunset paints the smoggy air acid orange. Shields lower inside and out, taking it in, the fury and furor of a city. Raucous. Raw. Rending. It's almost painful, tearing and clawing the edge of the psyche.

The smile in the window is too sharp. Throw it open. Inhale the stench of oil and asphalt and too many people crammed into too small an area. Familiar. So much better than that static sterile nothingness.

Exhale. Leave the window open. Tamp down the shields.

This is only the beginning. You have work to do.

[americxn]

Hi, I am absolutely living for your fics (run especially!!) I had an idea for a possible Kai fic if you have time. What if Kai keeps the reader separate from the cult and acts almost like pre-cult Kai with her. But one day (maybe after he thinks Winter is the mole) he loses his mind and goes to the reader for comfort?! Idk maybe it could be angsty or sweet or smutty just a rough idea ☺️

Unpredictable (Kai x Reader)

a/n: I’M BACK. sorry this took me such a long time to post, I couldn’t quite figure out how to write it but here it is! (i lowkey hate this i’m so sorry)

wordcount: 2k

Pulling up the handbrake of your car, you pushed open the door, ensuring to grab your phone and keys before stepping out into the cool night air. The illuminated windows of Kai’s kitchen lit up the driveway, showing you the path to the front door.  You breathed in the night air, excited to see your boy after a long day of work. Not bothering to knock, you pulled open the front door, pausing to take off your shoes before entering the main part of the house, humming softly to yourself. You paused when Kai voice rose to meet you, coming from the kitchen to your left. He was muttering angrily, his voice almost imperceptibly raised in pitch, a sure sign that he was stressed. “Kai?” You called, hurrying into the kitchen to see him bent over the kitchen counter, his hands covering his face whilst his phone rested on the surface before him. Beverly stood silently on the other side of the room, a chopping board covered in sliced vegetables occupying her. “Kai?” You repeated. This time he heard you as you stepped into the kitchen with a concerned frown. He snatched up his phone, his eyes widening slightly as he beheld you before putting his phone off speaker and raising it to his ear. “No, I don’t care. She should be here.” He gritted down the phone, walking over to you and bracing an arm around your waist. His body was tense against yours.

You peered up at him as he spat down the phone, his face glowing an angry red, his eyes wild. “Kai?” You whispered a third time, trying to get him to look at you. He glanced to you, pinching the bridge of his nose before pulling the phone away from his ear. “Hi, lamb. Give me a minute, okay? Go upstairs, I’ll join you in a few.”  Although his voice was calm, you could tell that it was forced, his lip curling in rage as he addressed you before giving you a light shrug towards the kitchen door. You turned slowly, glancing at Beverly who shook her head in warning, encouraging you silently to heed his direction. Turning away fully, your ensured that your hand brushed against Kai’s in a soft gesture of affection before vacating the room. You made it only halfway up the stairs before Kai’s roar of fury ripped through the house, swiftly followed by the distinct sound of something shattering. You were back down the stairs and into the kitchen within a matter a seconds, beholding Kai with wide eyes. He stood in the centre of the room, shouting furiously down the phone, spittle flying from his mouth and a thick, angry vein prominently running up the centre of his forehead. At his feet, the crystalline vase that had once housed a bunch of summery flowers on the centre of the kitchen island lay in shatters around his feet, the flowers limp and broken on the floor. His phone quickly joined the mess of shards on the floor, Kai not even bothering to hang up on the caller before chucking it to the hard floor, the screen instantly splintering into a spider web of deep cracks. “Kai.” You barked, Beverly quickly skirting around the mess on the floor and exiting the room. You couldn’t blame her, Kai never acted like this and you weren’t too sure how to deal with it either.  His head snapped up to you, his nostrils flared and eyes wide in savage anger, his laboured breathing audible even from across the room. “What the fuck is going on?” You questioned, carefully picking your way through the mess of shards of broken glass and taking his face in your hands. “Look at me.” You ordered calmly, watched as his pupils dilated slightly at the sight of your concerned face as it appeared before his. You allowed your thumbs to trace soft, loving patterns on his cheeks as you held him, his fingers clasping tightly onto your wrists as his eyes drifted shut under your touch.  You waited patiently for his breathing to even out slightly, his grip slowly loosening on your wrists notifying you that he was calmed by your presence. “Are you okay?” You whispered eventually, peering up at him under a concerned frown. He nodded tightly, his jaw clenching and working beneath your touch. “Come with me.” You encouraged gently, his eyes opening as you pulled your hands away from his face, taking his hands in yours instead. “Careful.” You murmured, helping him navigate through the scattered shards of brutally sharp glass, a product of his fury. He was completely silent as you led him away from the kitchen and up the stairs, your hands clutched tightly in his hold. Pushing the door open with a foot, you led him into his bedroom, perching him on the edge of the bed and shutting the door softly behind you. He kept his dark gaze trained on the floor as you turned to him, approaching him with slow caution, trying to gauge how he was feeling. “Do you wanna talk about it?” To your upmost dismay and complete shock, Kai’s face crumpled at your words, a rosy hue settling over his cheeks. In the three years that you and Kai had been together, you had never seen him cry.  You cursed under your breath, hurrying to where he sat and pulling his body to yours. His arms immediately snaked around your waist, his head burying into your stomach. His shoulders shook slightly at the force of his sobs, small, broken cries emanating from his hidden face. His heaving cries were interrupted by tiny hiccups and squeaks, his hot tears soaking into the thick material of your soft sweater. You rubbed slow circles in between his shoulder blades, unsure of how to comfort him aside from offering sweet reassurances. His arms clutched around you tighter, pulling your body even closer to him. Eventually, when his cries had quietened, his sobs less frequent, you knelt down before him, his head emerging from the fabric of your sweater as you did so. Your heart cracked in two at the sight of his swollen eyes, his cheeks blotchy and red, his eyes teary.  You ran the backs of your hands across his cheeks tenderly, collecting any stray tears from his hot skin before leaning in to press an adoring kiss to his swollen, salty lips. “Baby?” You asked, his eyes slowly rising to meet yours. He sniffled, but replied with a thick, “yeah?” “What’s the matter? I’ve seen you like this before.” With another sniffle, he looked down at the floor, his shoulder curving inwards with vulnerability. “It’s nothing.” You scoffed lightly, searching his eyes. “It’s most certainly not nothing, mister. You shattered Winter’s favourite vase, she won’t be very happy.” You were joking of course, just trying the lighten the mood. But his face hardened at the mention of her name, his eyes narrowing to puffy slits. “That bitch.” He spat, taking you by complete surprise once more as he stood up abruptly, stepping around you and heading for the door. “No, Kai. Wait.” You begged, catching his hand just as he reached the door. He spun on you, but you didn’t shrink away. “Tell me what’s happening. What’s going on with Winter?” His lip curled but you held your ground, staring right at him. “She betrayed me. And the rest of us. “Rest of who?” You didn’t even know why you bothered asking, you knew exactly what he was referring to. “The fucking cult.” He gritted out. Your heart sank at the mention of the cult; you didn’t associate with it. You pretended that it didn’t exist and Kai let you. It was just apart of your dynamic. “She’s been spying on me or some shit. A mole. She’s the one who has been planting those fucking bugs all over the house.” His eyes glinted with returning wildness. You released his hand, running your palms over your face. “Have you spoken to her?” Kai seemed to still at this, his eyes glazing over with cold fury. “No.” He spat, once again turning for the door. You grabbed ahold of his forearm, stopping him once more. “Don’t you think that it would be a good idea to actually talk to her about it before jumping to a conclusion? Who did you even hear that from?” Kai’s cheeks reddened once more with agitation at the truth of your words. His gaze once again dropped to the floor, Kai finding your feet suddenly very interesting. “Speed Wagon.” He mumbled. “Speed - Speed Wagon?” You repeated, incredulity evident in your tone. “Yes.” His answer was short, blunt. You sighed through your nose, watching as Kai’s eyes once again filled with tears. “No, look it’s okay.” You hurried, moving your grip from his arm to his hand, pulling him back over to the bed as his lower lip wobbled. “I’m sorry, I... I wouldn’t get it.” You excused, feeling guilty for being so submissive at his explanation. Even if you knew very little about it, you knew how much his cult meant to him. “No, it’s fine.” He mumbled, his face red as he swiped away the few tears that rolled down his puffy cheeks. “It’s not, you’re stressed out and I -” The rest of your words were snatched from you when Kai’s hand clasped suddenly onto your throat, pushing you back and pinning you the bed. You let out a surprised squeak, your eyes wide as Kai’s face appeared above yours, his hair hanging limply around his face. “I said, it’s fine.” He hissed, his eyes flashing as his hand pressed your throat even further into the mattress, constricting your air flow and leaving you gasping to suck down as much air as would fit around his hold. “Kai.” You rasped, frozen in place under his harsh stare, his palm warm and rough in its position on your neck. “Why can’t you understand?” He growled, pulling your upper body off the bed slightly before slamming you back down in emphasis, the springs hidden in the mattress creaking with the impact. You stared up at him, your eyes widened in a silent plea. His pupils dilated suddenly, his jaw relaxing as he hurriedly released you, sitting back on the bed beside you. Sitting up slowly, you stared at him, ignoring the slight ache in your throat when you swallowed. Kai exhaled through his nose slowly, his hand raising to push back the free strands of limp blue hair. “Sorry.” You whispered into the silence, watching him wearily.  He had scared you. His dark eyes flicked to yours, his gaze now tamed. Beholding the fear he had instilled in you, he shook his head. “Don’t you dare apologise. I’m sorry.”  “No, I shouldn’t have pushed-”  “Stop. I’m sorry. ” Your rambling was interrupted by perhaps the most genuine apology you had ever received from him, causing words to evade you completely.  Kai looked away, his hands itching to reach for you and pull you to him. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, walking with trailing steps to the door. You surveyed him carefully, watching the tension in the hand he placed on the handle of the door. “I understand if you want to leave. I need to go to my meeting.” And with that he left, his evident remorse still hanging thick in the air.  You stared after him as he shut the door with careful restraint, clearing your throat with a small wince and trying to unpack what the hell had just happened. His grasp on your throat still lingered as the ghost of a touch, the image of his wild eyes flashing down at you prominent in the forefront of your mind. And it broke your heart to allow the thought to manifest but you knew that the Kai you had just witnessed was the Kai walking down the stairs to the basement. It was all you do but hope that the Kai that emerged from his cult meeting wasn’t the same Kai that had just left the room as you lay back on the bed, running a single finger across the hollow of your throat and settling into the silence of the room. 

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler

[basicjetsetter]

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it.  Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.” 

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men. 

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself. 

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning  |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better. 

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet. 

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see. 

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him. 

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual. 

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.” 

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.” 

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again. 

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips. 

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy. 

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily. 

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you. 

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you. 

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

[icysaturn]

An Act of Villainy

Hi! This is my first fic so bear with me <3

Summary: You force yourself to get kidnapped by the LOV alongside Bakugou, and you refuse to leave their hideout without him by your side. To do so, you embrace your inner villain.

Pairings: Bakugou/Reader

Content warnings: violence, cursing, fluff!

word count: 3.8k

Your quirk: Water manipulation (basically you’re a waterbender on steroids lol)

-- 

You had been part of the bakusquad since the get-go, having been friends with Kirishima and Mina since your middle school days. Upon entrance to UA, you immediately fell head over heels for their angry blonde friend. You and Bakugou had grown close over the past few months, but he never seemed to show you the special treatment you so craved from him. But, you decided you were lucky to have Bakugou in your life in any way he would allow it.

That’s why now, as you stared at Bakugou’s fear-stricken face and the scarred hand wrapped around his neck, all rational thought flew out the window. You and Deku raced towards him and Dabi, but the warp villain’s quirk had almost swallowed them completely whole.

“KACCHAN!” Deku screamed, the knowledge that he wouldn’t make it in time evident in his strained voice. But you could.

Thrusting your arms behind you and angling your palms backwards, you emitted a great blast of steam from them that propelled you forward and past Deku, barreling for Bakugou. You could’ve sworn his eyes were about to pop out of his sockets as you reached a hand out, grappling for his shirt.

“Y/n... Deku…Stay back,” Bakugou wheezed around the fingers gripping his throat. But you couldn’t; you knew you could never forgive yourself if you let the boy you love slip through your fingers. With a victorious shout, you felt the sweat-soaked material of Bakugou’s shirt twist in your fingers, and you pulled yourself to him as you both tumbled through the purplish-black mist.

…

The three of you emerged in what appeared to be a musty abandoned bar, but you didn’t have time to gather your bearings as Dabi shoved you off of Bakugou in disgust and you landed on the floor in a heap, breaths ragging. Kurogiri quickly slapped quirk-dampening cuffs on Bakugou and tugged him to a chair at the far wall. Bakugou roared as he was tied down, his crimson eyes burning in rage.

“Who the hell is this? You guys can’t do anything right, can you?”

You heart stuttered in your chest as you recognized the gravelly voice of Shigaraki, turning around to see him leaning casually against the cracking wood of the bar.

“It wasn’t my fault she was dumb enough to throw herself at us,” Dabi sighed, annoyance pinching his brow. He stepped up to your shaking form and extended his hand, blue flames flaring to life. “I’ll get rid of her, boss.”

“NO—”

“WAIT!”

You and Bakugou both cried out, you throwing your hands up in a sign of goodwill. Your gaze shot to Bakugou, eyes wide, lower lip trembling. He actually looked… scared. Well shit. If he was scared, then this was really, really bad.

Dabi stopped, cocking his head. “And why shouldn’t I torch you on the spot? You weren’t what we came for, brat.”

You wiggled into a sitting position, leaning back against the wall with your hands still held in surrender. “No, but I should have been,” you say casually, willing the fear out of your voice and raising your chin to look Dabi in the eye. You made sure to wipe all expression from your face, a steady chill creeping over your skin that you mentally shook off.

“The fuck?” Bakugou shouted from his chair. He sounded strained. “Y/n, what the fuck is wrong with you!? Get out, I don’t need your help—"

“Shut it brat. Tell me, y/n… why should we have taken you?” Shigaraki pondered. You slid your gaze over to him, repressing the shudder that crawled over your tired body at the sight of the decayed hands latched onto him.

“Feel free to tie me up with Bakugou, if it makes you feel better, and I’ll explain,” you answer, leveling your stare at the leader of the LOV.

“Oh, I don’t think you have a choice in that matter, dollface,” Dabi grins, nodding at Toga who bounds over and pulls you gently to your feet.

She leans in close and presses her nose to your neck, and it takes all of your will-power to not recoil. She smelled like blood; the copper tang thick around her. “You smell sooo sweet!” she cheers, yanking your wrists together and slapping cuffs on them tight enough to make you wince. You angle your head down and look at her pointed canines through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah? You think so?” you whisper. Toga giggles and Bakugou tugs at his restraints with a grunt at your expression. She marches you over to him and straps you to the chair Compress placed next to Bakugou’s.

You turn to smirk at him, but he’s already glaring at you with… anger?

“Traitor,” he barks, jerking his chin away from you, but not before you catch the tears brimming in his eyes. Your heart clenches painfully and you will your mental apologies to reach him, praying he catches on to your plan.

“Start talking,” Shigaraki snaps, and you swivel your gaze to look at him and the members of the league.

“Hi, nice to meet you all,” you smile. “I assume you watched all of our matches at the sports festival?” Your tone is bold with a slightly sinister lilt to your words.

“Oh of course!” Toga claps with glee. “I thought you were the cutest!”

“Shut it, psycho,” growls Dabi, but Toga only points her knife at him with a sadistic grin.

You smile at her and bat your lashes, forcing a blush. “Yeah? I like this one,” you wink, nodding your head towards her. You want to throw up.

Shigaraki waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You have a strong quirk. So?”

The shackles chafe your wrists and you’re sure your skin is rubbed raw. “Ever since you attacked my class at the USJ, I’ve been trying to find a way to join the LOV,” you answer slowly, gauging the league’s reactions. Shigaraki merely raises his eyebrows, but you see Bakugou whip his head in your direction at his words.

“Well, you see, I’ve been a big fan of how you guys operate for a while now, not to mention how much fun you guys seem to have together! I want that!” You angle your gaze down at your shackled feet and continue in a hushed voice, summoning tears to your eyes. “You see, I never really felt like I belonged at UA. Sure, my classmates were nice to me, but it was all fake, I could tell. I don’t owe anyone anything, and I want what you guys have,” you admit, flicking your gaze up to see tears shining in Toga’s eyes as well and Dabi’s relaxed expression. Seems like they joined the league for a similar reason.

“Why the hell should we believe you?” Shigaraki asks, but Bakugou interrupts.

“You have friends, you shitty woman! Why are you acting like we don’t care about you, dumbass?” Bakugou shouts.

You jerk your head to look at him, willing anger into your features, but it’s a struggle. He looks so hurt: mouth slack and eyebrows relaxed as he stares at you with wide eyes. You force a laugh. “Really, Kacchan?” You continue even as you watch the boy you love flinch away as far as his restraints would allow. “You’re always bullying me! You insult me at every chance you get, and you see how I’m everyone’s last pick during training!” you snarl at him. He looks at his feet, shoulders trembling slightly. It hurt, but for this to work, he couldn’t know what you were planning.

Dabi barks a laugh and Toga pouts. “How rude Bakugou!”

You continue with your pathetic villain origin story full of holes you hoped your quirk would fill. “Plus, there are things I can do with my quirk that are banned, things that are seen as ‘villainous and evil’. Things that I can use to help you guys take down All Might once and for all.” You hated the words as soon as they passed your lips, but you knew they were your selling point.

“Oh? And how do we know you won’t use your quirk on us as soon as we set you free?” Shigaraki drawls, sounding bored, but you can hear the interest piquing in his voice.

You answered with a sneer that would have scared the shit out of you if you had a mirror. “I’ll use Bakugou to show you.” You fixed your crazy eyes and cheek splitting smirk on your classmate. “I owe him one.”

He spat on you and you flinched a bit. “The fuck you will, you traitorous bitch! Fuck all of you!” he shouted, struggling against his restraints with a renewed sense of fear.

You had ranked third in the sports festival and had almost beaten Bakugou a few times even without your banned moves. You could feel the apprehension rippling off of him. Now, it seemed, he was scared of you. Probably fair, given your flipped personality.

“Hm... Alright. Do you have enough space here?” Shigaraki asked, motioning Dabi to untie Bakugou from the chair.

“No, unfortunately. Do you guys have someplace safe we can go outside?” I ask innocently.

“This bar backs onto an alley that should be suitable,” Compress answers, pushing himself off the wall he had been resting on. “We’ll all go with to make sure you don’t have any tricks up your sleeve.” He fixes you with an untrustworthy glare and smiles.

“Of course not,” you smile sweetly. “I want to join your cause, remember?”

Dabi moves to release you too, and you force a smirk, raising your half-lidded eyes to stare at him. “Hey there, hot stuff. You can be rough with me, I can take it,” you purr. You hear Bakugou “tch” from behind you.

Dabi burns through your cuffs and you rub your aching wrists, but freeze as he leans into your ear and says, “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.”

…

You stood in the cramped alley, lit only by the glow of the lights flooding from the bar’s open door. The LOV are stationed sporadically around the alley: Compress at one end and Dabi at the other, with Kurogiri guarding the door to the bar and Toga and Shigaraki standing in front of you and Bakugou. His hands are still shackled, a hitch to your plan that will be a bitch to work around.

“Here are the rules,” Shigaraki calls. He was uncomfortably close given his quirk, but you didn’t have much of a choice here. “You must tell us your moves before enacting them, and you must keep the kid alive. Also, you are forbidden to attack one of us,” he extends his hands near your face threateningly, and you swallow thickly.

“Understood, boss,” you smile at him. “Sorry Bakugou, this is gonna hurt a bit.”

“Shut up,” Bakugou snarls. He’s standing with hunched shoulders, not looking at you. Angling your body away from Shigaraki and Toga, you announce, “my first banned move is my ability to form ice inside someone’s body. For example, I can freeze their veins, their lungs—essentially stopping vital functions. For Bakugou, I will mold a lump of solid ice in his trachea, but only for a few seconds.” That got everyone’s attention. Bakugou whipped his head to stare at you, taking a step backward.

“Y-You can’t, Y/n, please,” he stuttered, his usual angry demeanor lost.

“Oh, but I can. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you,” you taunt. You caught his eye then, mouthing “it’s okay, I have a plan,” before outstretching your wrist and changing the humidity in his throat to solid ice. Bakugou’s hand instantly flew to his throat, trying to gasp for air, but no sound came out. You had never hated your quirk before, but in this moment you despised it.

You kept your hold on him until his face flushed and Shigaraki stated, “that’s enough.”

You instantly released him and he collapsed to the floor, heaving for air. Tears pricked your eyes but with a twitch of your fingers, you evaporated them into the air without a trace.

“Whaddya think?” you gleamed, turning back around to face the others.

Toga looked absolutely devilish, clapping her hands and giggling. Dabi smirked at you, and you winked back. The rest of the league nodded their heads in approval, and Shigaraki tilted his head, thinking.

“I like you,” he rasped. “I think we could use someone like you, yeah?” He glanced around at the league, who smiled back.

Kurogiri spoke up next. “With her, the league would be, well, in a whole other league.” Dabi rolled his eyes at the joke, but the warp villain continued. “What else do you got, kid?”

“For my next trick,” you winked at Compress, “I will control the water flowing in his veins, and thus control his body. I saw it in a T.V. show once, and what do you know? It worked!”

Shigaraki nodded his approval, and you swiveled around to face Bakugou once again. This is when your plan would kick up a notch, and you needed him on board for it to work.

Bakugou finally got up from the ground, his normal pallor back. He shot daggers at you, and rasped, “Don’t fucking touch me, you bitch.”

You turned around and pouted at Toga, whose face flushed pink. Turning back to Bakugou, you wiped the smug expression off your face. His eyebrow quirked in confusion and you softened your gaze, nodding slightly.

“Get ready, Katsuki,” you said seriously, and it seems like the gears finally clicked in his head. His mouth went wide before settling into a hard line as he furrowed his eyebrows.

You threw out both arms in front of you and shut your eyes, sweat sliding down your temple in concentration. Sensing the water mixed in his blood, you seized it like reigns. When you next opened your eyes, you lifted your left arm up, and Bakugou followed suit. The league of villains gasped and Bakugou struggled against your control. Gritting your teeth, you tugged his arms in front of his face and he shouted in frustration.

“He’s like a puppet!” Toga cackled, Dabi laughing as well. You glanced at Shigaraki, who crossed his arms in his appreciation of your quirk.

“Well, Y/n, we have a deal.”

“I knew you’d see my side of things,” you smiled genuinely, taking a few steps to the right, away from Shigaraki and Toga and towards Dabi a bit. You nodded at Bakugou, releasing your hold on him, but you both stayed in the same position.

“There’s one more thing I can do with my quirk,” you say carefully, making eye contact with Bakugou.

“And what’s that?” Shigaraki asked greedily.

“This!” You felt the perspiration on Bakugou’s hands, felt the water molecules trapped between his skin and the cuffs. With enough force, water can break through almost anything. Pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasework, you chanted as you used all of your strength to rip the water molecules through the cuffs.

“Wait, you little shit—!” Shigaraki yelled, but it was too late. The cuffs split down the middle and Bakugou tore them off him, immediately crouching into a fighting stance and igniting a massive blast right at Shigaraki. Bakugou whooped in victory, turning to blast Kurogiri backwards into the bar before he had a chance to warp the two of you somewhere else.

“C’mon!” You screamed at him, tugging his elbow and sprinting towards Dabi.

“Don’t tell me what to do, shitty woman!” Bakugou screamed back, but he raced down the alley with you.

“Oh, shut it!”

Bakugou was about to blast Dabi, but your quirk was a better match for him. You gripped the blood in his veins and thrust your arms forward, effectively shoving him further down the alley. Just as Dabi was standing back up to brush the dirt off of his coat and launch his flames at you, you caught your breath and formed the lump of ice in his throat that sent him keening to the side, pressing a hand to his throat to melt the ice.

You saw Bakugou turn to start blasting at Toga and Compress, who were quickly gaining on you.

“Katsuki! We have to go, NOW!” You shouted over the bangs, turning to throw up an ice wall on either side of you for a moment of rest.

“Fuck! You dumbass! Get on!” he grumbled, crouching down for you to hop onto his back. Once he was upright, you angled a palm at the ground and shot steam from it, shooting the two of you into the air right as Dabi sent a torrent of flames through your ice wall, the heat licking at your heels.

Bakugou used his blasts to fly you away from the alley, and you craned your neck just in time to see Compress throwing his blue prisons at you. You crystallized them with ice and they fell back into the alley where the League of Villains stood, getting smaller by the second, but you couldn’t miss the look of pure rage on Shigaraki’s face.

You rested your forehead on Bakugou’s shoulder, using all of your remaining strength to cling to his back, but the exertion of your puppeteer technique was taking over, your arms feeling staticky and your vision darkening at the edges.

“Fuck, that was scary!” you breathed a laugh, grip loosening a bit.

“You idiot! That could’ve gotten us both killed!” Bakugou barked, the wind carrying his voice towards you.

“I think what you mean to say,” you wheezed, “is ‘thank you.’” And with that, the darkness took over and you felt yourself slip off his back, the balmy air embracing you as the lights of the city rose to meet you.

“Y/n! —”

…

You felt the brightness of the lights burning in front of your eyelids but refused to open them. Shit, did your body hurt. It felt like you had been hit by a truck, and you reached out with your quirk to sense the distortions of water in the air, trying to assess how many people were in the room with you. You only sensed one, your body relaxing as you realized you recognized the caramel scent of the person sitting next to you. Groaning, you cracked your eyelids open and saw a sleeping Bakugou resting on his forearm at the edge of your mattress. You were in Recovery Girl’s office, thank god. You pushed yourself to a sitting position, fighting the soreness in your muscles. Closing your eyes in concentration, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Bakugou shouted, “Dumbass! Lay back down!”

Your eyes flew open just in time to see Bakugou looming over you, his hand pushing you back in the bed. You gulped at his closeness but shouted back. “Shut it! I have a headache asshole! Now help me up.”

He grumbled at you but tugged you up into a sitting position regardless, fumbling with the knobs on the side of the hospital bed to raise the top so you could lean on it for support.

“Thanks.”

“Shut up, shitty woman.”

You rolled your eyes at him, and he rolled his at you. “So, uh, what happened?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He flushed, shifting in his seat a bit. “You fell off my back while we were escaping. I caught you, of course, but the old lady says the overuse of your quirk and the whiplash from the fall knocked you out… for the past 18 hours,” he finished, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“18 HOURS?!”

“I THOUGHT YOU HAD A HEADACHE!”

“Oh, right,” you giggled. “I’m a good actress, huh?” you elbowed him jokingly. Bakugou flushed again, moving to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Hell no! You didn’t fool me for a second,” he grumbled. “Dumbass.”

“Sure, boom boom boy.”

You both looked at each other, a tense silence taking over. Bakugou looked confused like he wanted to ask you something, so you nudged him.

“Did you really mean all that shit you spewed back there?”

“What shit—oh. No, I didn’t. I have you and Kiri! Mina, Denki, and Sero, too. To be honest, I just thought you didn’t like me very much, that’s all,” you laughed.

“Then why?”

“Huh?” you scrunched your face at him.

“Why did you save me? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” he shouted at you. “Do you look down on me or something?!”

Your eyes widened at the hurt expression on his face. It threw you back to the league’s hideout and how afraid yet stubborn he looked.

“Because I knew I could.”

“Bullshit, try harder.”

You swallowed. “Uh, well, I—uh, hmm.” He raised an eyebrow and you took a deep breath. “Because I couldn’t stand the thought of what they could’ve done to you. Because I know even the strongest need help sometimes; I could see it in your eyes.”

He only arched his brow further. “I told you, I didn’t need help! —”

“Because I care about you! Because I-I’m in love with you!” you interrupted.

You ducked your head, your hair falling to cover your face as your heart pounded in your ears. You peeked up through your lashes to see Bakugou sitting perfectly still, his mouth agape.

“Shit—uh,” you looked up at him. “Don’t feel pressured to feel the same. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that… I don’t want to make you uncomf—mmf!”

But you were cut off as Bakugou snapped out of his trance and silenced you with a kiss. He pulled away just as quickly, and you stared at his blushing face. “I love you too, idiot,” he said.

“You do?”

“For a while now. Don’t make me say it again!”

You grinned softly, but it fell as you recalled yesterday’s events. “I’m so sorry if I hurt you, Katsuki. I just—I just didn’t know what else to do,” you admitted, fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

Katsuki reached out and stilled your hands. “As if, stupid.”

You searched his eyes, but they were steady, gazing into your e/c ones. “Promise?”

“Promise. That’s one hell of a trick you got there, but it could use some work.”

Smiling so wide you thought you’d break, you closed the space between the two of you and ran a hand through his surprisingly soft hair. He cupped your face and you both melted into each other.

Gasping, Katsuki pulled back just enough to whisper “thank you” against your lips before leaning in for one more kiss. “But don’t ever do anything like that again, shitty woman!”

You pressed your forehead to his, laughing as you reached up to cup his cheeks. “Hmm, we’ll see about that.”

You felt his smile against your lips.

[softlyjiminie]

oh kitten! | p.j.m

⇢ pairing(s): park jimin x cat hybrid!reader, mentions of panther hybrid!jeon jungkook x cat hybrid!reader.

⇢ word count: 2.4K

⇢ genre: smut, fluff, hybrid!au.

⇢ summary: no one expected park jimin to come home with a hybrid, let alone a female cat hybrid. innocent as can be, sweeter than sugar, she was the apple of jimin’s eye, but little did they know, how good she could be.

⇢ warning(s): please read! heavy smut, pwp, dom!jiimin, sub!reader, oral sex (female receiving.), fingering, male masturbation, light exhibitionism,  master kink, corruption kink, degredation kink, god kink if you squint,  mentions of pet play, light choking, spanking, cum play, breeding kink, unprotected sex - please wear protection!

⇢ author’s note(s): happy new year friends! it is i, your favourite jimin luvr back with a very special gift for miss @fantasybangtan​, gia hit me with this very wonderful and steamy gift, so in my new years haze I managed to throw this little steamy one-shot together! please enjoy this very smutty fic hehe.

no one expected park jimin to come home with a hybrid, let alone a female cat hybrid. jimin already had plenty of girls wrapped around his finger before her, so why did he need a hybrid? the short answer was that he was lonely, looking for someone to take care of and fill the empty space between work, college and parties. but jimin had seen the look of happiness on yoongi’s face that one time,upon seeing his girlfriend  bring in their excitable german shepard hybrid; taehyung  (of course with the permission of their boss seokjin, some establishments didn’t allow hybrids on the premises.)

namjoon, his old roommate had moved out after getting his own cat hybrid, jungkook. the panther hybrid had many lazy tendencies, sometimes aggressive and possessive which had ultimately led namjoon to leave. in other words, jungkook was lazy and mean as fuck. however, he did have his adorable moments. then there was, hoseok who frequently volunteered in a shelter for hybrids. it had been him, the jubilant man,  who helped jimin to find the right hybrid for his home, but the older male would have never suspected his blue haired ‘bad boy’ friend to go for the most innocent little short hair he’d ever seen. 

oh kitty, if hoseok knew how innocent and good she really was. 

YN’s back was arched, dark fluffy tail wrapped around her thigh as she held her ass up high for jimin to see. with dark eyes, jimin nudged her thighs apart with his own, just so he could get a view of her pretty, creamy little pussy. her ears were flat with submission too, making heat crawl down his spine. “look at you kitten,” jimin cooed lowly, crescent moon eyes heavy with seduction. “all spread out for me, like a good little girl.” 

he hummed in satisfaction, watching her tail twitch and ears flicker to place his movement. YN knew he was right behind her, her modified hybrid DNA meant her keen sense of smell could detect his growing arousal and the denim that prevented it from filling her up. she let out a quiet mix between a whimper and a purr, burying her face into the fresh cotton sheets as she wiggled her hips in an attempt to get jimin’s attention. 

hands on her waist stilled the motion, causing YN to glance back over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. jimin smirked, shuffling down the bed with her ass still firmly in grip. the tattooed man yanked at her hips with bruising force,  bringing her sopping heat closer to his face once his knees hit the floor. nose just inches away from her swollen nub, jimin’s  hot breath fanned over YN’s throbbing core and sent her senses into overdrive. “tell me kitten, what was it that you did so wrong? tell master so he can give you what you need baby.”

his voice dripped with mockery, testing all of her self control. jimin had her trained well, to be a good pet, not only when but if he desired it. he loved to see YN on her knees when he came home from a busy day, mouth open and ready to take his fingers spiralled with tattoos. he loved it. she adored it.

“i t-touched myself,” she mewled after jimin pressed his plush lips against her core in a sloppy kiss. he hummed, as if asking her to continue, causing her fingers to grip the sheets. “because the heat, m-my heat was too much!” 

the tattooed man licked a stripe along the length of her dripping cunt, the overflow of her arousal sweet on his tongue. jimin was addicted, senses overflowing with all of her. “what else sweetheart? elaborate for me.” 

“’called taehyungie ‘n hoseok t-to help with my heat-, oh my god!” she squealed when jimin’s skilled tongue slipped past her entrance, feasting on the heavenly nectar that gathered there. YN was sinful, without even trying, her innocence turning the man on beyond compare. corrupting her, tainting his little angel.  jimin moaned into her core, loving how she desperately cried out his name. letting a inked hand run through his teal tinted locks, jimin lifted himself off of his knees and begun to  sooth her whimpers, smoothing over the curve of her ass. “they said- oh my - they said no so i called kookoo to he-help! jimin!” 

the tattooed man growled into her cunt, possessively at the other hybrid’s name. memories only driving him to push his tongue into her pulsing hole, he smirked against her, drawing patterns on her desperate cunt as she cried out. before adopting YN, jimin knew next to nothing about owning and taking care of a hybrid, let alone about their reproductive cycles. so when his kitten fell into her first heat with him,  jimin panicked and immediately took to calling namjoon for advice. 

jimin remembered his face being bright with a red when his little, sweet, innocent kitty begged him to fill her up with his cum. because, sure, park jimin had been with girls before but this was YN and YN was his precious little baby. jimin had never seen her in such a state before, tears pooling in her beautiful, doe eyes like she was in pain. desperately needing something, someone to take the edge off.

namjoon offered up jungkook to help take care of jimin’s darling kitten and of course, he was sceptical. jungkook wasn’t gentle, he couldn’t take care of a little thing like YN. 

but oh how jimin was wrong. 

never in his life, in his time with YN had he heard her scream such filthy words, begging for jungkook to stuff her full of his load and breed her till his heart content. of course the panther obliged, groaning and barking orders into YN’s ear as their skin slapped against each other. 

and so it became a regular occurrence from then on, jimin making a home on the living room couch as jungkook took her round after round after round. YN’s moans  like a sweet melody filling the void of the apartment, causing jimin’s cock to harden in his sweatpants. he should have felt bad, bad for touching himself to orgasm whilst listening to YN being pounded away. it wasn’t until recently, when jimin had confessed his feelings (and jealousy), that he started helping her through the heats. making his name, jimin , the name that she chanted like a mantra.

“minnie, it hurts,” YN gasped, a slur in her words after he’d neglected her cunt for too long. with a teasing smile, jimin withdrew his face from her heat, replacing his tongue with a finger, slowly pumping it knuckle deep within her red hot walls. jimin grinned cockily in delight, feeling her walls take him in like a glove, pushing her (or rather his) sweater over her ass and up to her chest. 

kissing a trail up her back, jimin smiled against the expanse of her skin, reaching her neck and biting down just hard enough to form a love bite. he wanted YN’s skin to shine with his work, painting blue and purple hues across her skin like the night sky. “i know angel,” he murmured softly, millimetres away from her sensitive cat ears. “i’ll take care of you baby, i’ll fill you up so good, fuck you raw and then feed your tight little pussy my cum, would you like that kitten?” jimin’s voice was raspy in her ear, making YN’s chest heave at the thought of jimin inside her spasming walls. a fresh set of tears watered in the cat hybrid’s eyes as jimin’s finger curled, bringing her closer to the edge. stars formed behind cat-like irises as she teetered over the brink of orgasm, the knot in her stomach desperate to uncoil.

but just as quickly as it came, it stopped. “or would you rather kookoo?”

jimin’s whisper was hot against her kitty ears, causing them to twitch as she almost sobbed into the pillow with a shake of her head, moaning out for something, anything. “what about him, kitten? would you prefer if he fucked you like this? tossed you around and filled you up with his seed? hmm?“ jimin spoke harshly, landing a spank to YN’s ass. “i bet you would, all you can think about is being filled with cock and cum, bet you’d take anyone in that filthy cunt of yours.” 

“no, no, no!” YN cried, grinding her ass back into jimin’s jeans, leaving a wet patch at his crotch once she realised he had moved there. “i-i want you, i want you minnie please! don’t want him, don’t want koo, only you...”

the blue haired boy smirked lightly and sat back on his knees, slowly manoeuvring to unbuckle his belt. the clink of metal clanking on metal made the kitty moan in wonton as her ears swivelled at the sound. “say it again.” Jimin commanded, stripping off the rest of his clothes, the scent of his arousal filling his kitten’s nose. “beg for master, darling.”

“please, please i need you, m-master please- ” she didn’t need to say much before he was swiping the swollen, burning red head of his cock along her soaked slit. jimin shuddered above her, easing his thick cock between her folds as he encased the kitten between his arms. his bare chest moulded perfectly with the slope of her back, her ass resting comfortably at his hip. “hmmm minnie...”

in return, jimin gave an experimental thrust of his hips, whimpering into YN’s hair when she clenched around him. “fuck kitten, alway s’fuckin tight for me.” he moaned, thrusting in again, just to hear her little mewl’s of pleasure. the head of jimin’s cock caught on her wet walls, dragging against them as he repeatedly pushed in and out of her hole, abusing the sensitive area by rolling his hips into her constantly.

jimin lifted himself from her back, hands settling on her hips as he pulled her as back onto his cock, watching her cheeks jiggle with every movement. YN’s face was pressed deep into the pillows as she cried out his name, grinding back onto him like her life depended on it. “m-minnie please...” 

“please what kitten?” jimin panted, kissing up her spine again but never slowing the pace of his hips. “what is it that you want, hm? is my cock not enough for you?, greedy girl. want me to go faster? harder?” 

the blue haired male punctuated his words with swirls of his hips, his bright red tip prodding at her g-spot, eliciting a series of purrs from her kitten lips. he ravished the back of her neck once more, pausing his movements to let her roll back onto him feverishly, her cunt clenching right around him as her orgasm drew near. “h-h minnie, oh!” her purrs grew louder, moans reduced to mumbling his name and sighing once the weight of his body was on top of her again.

jimin’s thrusts became erratic, the force behind them more powerful. YN squeezed around his cock, purring for him and sending the vibrations going straight to his dick. “you gonna cum kitten?” he groaned into her hair, caging her in underneath him as he focused on thrusting deep. thick fingers fumbled to flick at her swollen clit with one hand, the other pressed lightly on her neck, forcing his thumb into her hot, wet mouth. “gonna make a mess of my cock?”

“yes! ’m so close,” she slurred, biting into the fabric of the pillow to control herself.

jimin nipped at her ear. “cum for me baby.” he growled, squeezing his eyes shut when she contracted around him one final time, arching her back to rut against him. jimin helped YN ride out her high as she milked his length for all he had, the tightness of her heat becoming too much for him. “where do you want me?”

“c-cum inside me, fill me with your kittens. breed me.” she purred, breathless as she swivelled her hips over his cock, the man above her practically sobbed as he gave a final two thrusts, filling his baby up with his thick hot seed.

jimin felt his arms give out as he collapsed to the side, not daring to crush his precious angel with his body wait. closing his whiskey eyes, jimin stilled to let his breathing calm, only cracking an eye open when YN moved over to give his inked arm appreciative kitten licks. “good? you’re okay, right princess?” he hummed in concern. 

“mhm! thank you jiminie, i think it’s settled for now. could i have some water please?” YN smiles shyly, the dimples in her cheeks returning. jimin chuckled, the switch of her personality reminding him of how innocent she could be and if he wasn’t so tired he knew his cock would have stirred again. with a shake of his blue hair out of his eyes, jimin nodded and sat up, leaning over to grab a bottle of water from the emergency supply under the bed. “thank you!” 

after the first few heats that he’d helped YN with, jimin quickly realised that both she and he would need replenishments if YN were to stay healthy and he were to keep up his stamina to satisfy her. it was a good thing that he could never get enough of her. the inked man watched with tired eyes as YN gulped down the water, trickles falling down the corner of her mouth and dripping onto her bare chest as she swallowed it down easily. 

wonder what else she could swallow like that, jimin thought. a small cough caused him to shift is gaze from his hybrid’s chest and up to her, innocent eyes. “you’re staring, minnie.” YN whined, with a pout on her lips. 

“you’re beautiful, is staring a crime?” he countered, moving to press a kiss where the water lay and followed to trail back up to the corner of her mouth. YN shifted on her knees, gasping quietly at the soft touch. jimin grinned widely against her supple cheek, biting it softly as he sensed another hot rush flooding through her. YN was so responsive to him, and only him. 

it was a privilege that he loved.

“no, but if i didn’t know any better, i would think you were the hybrid in heat...” she gasped, eyes rolling back as jimin moved his hands to cup her breasts. 

“whaddya say baby, another round?” 

“please, master.” she nodded, already moving to straddle jimin’s lap, ready for another round in the sheets. 

oh, what a good kitten she was. 

[writesowhatnext]

and I’ve been thinking about it lately // george weasley

Summary: friends // it was easy to be friends with george weasley

Request: nee

A/N: once again!!! I used Y/L/N which is last name :) this is part 2 of the fic I just posted!!!! obviously?? anyways I loved this

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: swearing

enemies // friends // lovers // epilogue

“Looks like we’re partners,” George said, sliding into the seat next to yours and grinning. He felt a little nervous given your turbulent history, but it seemed that you were about to surprise him, as you always managed to.

“Just my luck,” you retorted, your voice lacking its usual amount of bite despite your scowl.

He smirked at your tone, surprised at much he enjoyed your new-found acquaintanceship.

“Can’t believe you got paired up with that loser, Weasley,” Malfoy said to you from behind, leaning over his desk so his annoyingly pompous voice carried. “Which one are you again?”

Before George could open his mouth and put the little git in his place, he was beaten to the punch.

“And why are you talking to me, Malfoy?” you said slowly, not even looking at him as you opened your textbook. You smiled slightly at his angry muttering and the scrape of his chair on the floor.

When you looked at George, only to see him making smug faces at Malfoy before turning to you and smirking, you rolled your eyes, still finding his ability to rile your feathers disturbingly uncanny.

“You can do the uses-“

“Why?” he said loudly, returning your scowl as you glared at him.

“Because I told you to.”

“And so, what? I should just do it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, in that case, your highness.”

You shot him a dark look and he opened his mouth to continue your bickering when a dark figure loomed behind you.

“Mr Weasley, Ms Y/L/N.” Snape’s voice cut through the silence of the room. “Do you find squabbling like children in my class to be a good use of your time?”

Following Snape’s little scolding, you tried desperately to avoid his wrath for the rest of the lesson. This was a goal that proved harder than initially anticipated given the nature of the boy sitting next to you. Halfway through the lesson, you found yourself biting your nails, trying to figure out the purpose of adding Eye of Newt when George caught your eye. He winked and you glowered in return, but he could see the upward curve of your lips and considered himself once again pleasantly surprised. 

He could barely contain his laughter, though, when around ten minutes later you stuck your tongue out at him when you caught him looking around the room for a distraction. It was strange, you though, to be so light-hearted with him; not bad though, not at all.

He snickered until he felt Snape’s eyes on him and immediately ducked his head, not eager to receive another detention after the last Thursday night he spent polishing trophies. The idea of George getting in trouble made you smirk, though, and you looked over to tease him only to see Snape’s sour expression. 

Your eyes widened as you quickly looked down again and pursed your lips tightly. You both watched him walk in front of your desk slowly, gliding past you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders. George snorted and you kicked him under the table, finding it almost impossible to contain your own laughter with Snape watching you so closely.

The man himself, like a dark shadow, loomed over your bench and reluctantly, you both looked up. Snape’s eyes flickered from yours to George’s slowly, suspiciously. As you both waited silently for the inevitable punishment, you couldn’t help your amusement brewing and you cursed George and his stupidity for always somehow making you laugh.

“Class…” Snape drawled, his dark gaze never leaving your faces. “Dismissed.”

You concealed your laughter until you got outside the room where you immediately burst into giggles. You shoved George lamely with your hand, shaking your head.

“You are the worst!” you insisted, huffing as he grinned. You scoffed, biting your lip.

Both you and George stared at each other for a moment, your combined breathing the only sound in the hallway as your laughter died down. The air turned thick rather quickly and wading through the awkward silence, you remembered that you really ought to get to your next class. You made to leave, not wanting to extend the odd tension for any longer when George stopped you, his hand on your arm. You stiffened under his touch and he lifted his palm quicker than you’d thought possible. Your insides churned.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts, right?” he said, his eyebrows raised, an oddly guarded look in his eye.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“…Yes.”

“Oh, brilliant,” he said, throwing his arm over your shoulder and ushering you in the right direction. “We can walk there together.”

You grunted and pushed him off indelicately, shooting him a deadpan look when he grinned. You urged yourself to be normal - whatever that was.

“Joyous,” you said so dryly he barked a loud laugh, a laugh that made you forget how weird you’d felt only minutes before. You were glad to return to more familiar territory.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like me,” he said glibly, hoping that you couldn’t tell how unsure he was about the idea. Why did he even care if you liked him? He barely even liked you a week ago. You rolled your eyes again and he swallowed against the tightness of his throat.

“I assure you, there’s no pretence involved whatsoever.”

Either he didn’t have a witty response or just chose to ignore you, but he only hummed as you both wandered to the third floor.

Professor Lupin, you discovered quickly, was thankfully nothing like Professors Quirrell or Lockhart; that was in the sense that he actually seemed somewhat competent at his job. You were quite enjoying the lesson until he introduced the boggart, something that you definitely did not want to face, especially not in a room full of people that you didn’t know, didn’t like and George, who you were unsure about where he sat in that particular Venn diagram. With a poorly concealed rush, you joined the back of the queue that curled around the room as Fred and George, ever the showmen joined the front.

You expected George’s worst fear to be something stupid; something like clowns or people not laughing at his dumb jokes. What you did not expect was to see the boggart turn into George himself; how you could tell the difference between him and Fred was not something you dared to question. The boggart was holding a white rose and stood there in a suit, the type you’d never believe that George would ever wear, and as he faced it, he gulped. You frowned, something about the whole thing piquing your interest. Maybe George Weasley wasn’t everything you thought he was.

“Riddikulus!” he shouted, watching with wide eyes as the boggart’s white rose crumbled into dozens of pieces, each hitting the ground with a sharp thud. Its face morphed into Filch’s and suddenly the whole classroom was alive with laughter at the sight of Filch attempting to find footing on a floor of marbles. Finding you across the class, pleased to see a faint smirk on your lips, George winked. You scoffed, shaking your head. Maybe George Weasley was exactly what you thought he was.

“Pretty impressive, eh?” he said cockily as he walked over. The rest of the class shrieked in laughter as another fear turned into something hilarious, but you weren’t paying attention.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Most definitely.”

“I dare you to do something better,” he said, his competitive streak showing. He watched, though, with intrigue, as your face turned pale and your expression uncomfortable.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” you snapped, perhaps too harshly. He glowered, dozens of cruel retorts collecting on his tongue before he stopped, noticing the way your fingers pulled nervously at your sleeve and your eyes darted around the room.

For the first time since knowing you, George realised that you were actually scared of something and despite how much he loved to irritate you, your fearful expression didn’t sit well with him at all.

“Did you hear that Neville turned his into Snape wearing his grandma’s clothes?” he said, his stare far too obvious for his tone to be so casual. He tried, though, and you almost appreciated his attempt to be subtle as he avoided mentioning your conversational hand grenade. He watched confusion, and then recognition, flash over your features.

“I can’t believe Longbottom’s boggart was Snape,” you scoffed, crossing your arms tightly. George frowned, opening his mouth to defend him. Whilst he and Neville weren’t the best of friends, George wasn’t a fan of people teasing him, especially Slytherins. From all he knew about you, he could only expect mockery to tumble lazily from your lips.

“Neville’s-“

“How psychotic do you have to be for a kid to fear you like that?”

George’s mouth dried up a little and for the first time in a long time, he was rendered speechless. His eyes trailed over your scowling face.

“I’ll say,” he said softly, watching you closely to gauge your reaction. “I figured you’d like Snape; being a Slytherin and all.”

You made a face. “He’s a bully. Fantastic wizard, mind, but an awful person.”

George mused on your words for a moment. He didn’t really know what to say, but he was saved by the point of Fred’s wand and the sight of a younger, screaming Ron Weasley legging it away from a gigantic spider. You exhaled out of your nose as Fred came over, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

“That was brilliant, mate,” George said to his brother, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What did you think Y/N?” Fred asked, flicking his hair over his shoulder. “Am I a comedic genius or what?”

“I think I’ll have to go with ‘or what’ on that one,” you hummed, smiling at their stupidly dramatic reactions.

Much to your surprise, it wasn’t just the twins that you’d come to tolerate.  As you walked over to the Gryffindor table, your fingers drumming against your leg, you thought about how, against all odds, you’d developed a very unexpected friendship with Hermione Granger. Hours of polite co-existing at the library managed to do that to a person.

“Oi, Granger,” you said, stopping behind Ron, ignoring the way his face soured when he saw you. “Do you have that book I leant you on muggle war history?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, throwing her hand to her chest before she rifled through her bag and handed over a thick hardback. “Yes, here, thank you.”

You nodded at her before turning to walk away, catching Harry’s eye in the process. You circled back, an amused smirk working its way onto your lips.

“Saw you flying that hippogriff earlier, Potter. Must say, I’m quite impressed. Especially after what it did to Malfoy’s arm.”

“Uh,” he said, not quite sure where to look. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Ooh,” George said, sitting down next to Harry as Fred sat opposite him.

“Has someone got a crush?” Fred asked, goading you with his teasing tone.

“Someone’s about to get crushed,” you replied happily, your overly cheerful voice sending the twins into hysterics.

You pursed your lips, but the amused smile on your face didn’t escape Hermione’s keen eye.

“Excited for quidditch tomorrow then, Y/N?” George said with a cocky grin. “We’re gonna absolutely decimate the Hufflepuffs.”

“Like that’s hard,” Fred added, nodding his head.

“As much as I would love to see you two do absolutely nothing for a few hours,” you smirked as their expressions wilted. “I have no interest in torturing myself watching a game I can’t play.”

“Why can’t you play?” Harry asked, a confused frown knitting his brows together.

“Flint banned me for three matches; says it’ll ‘help remind me where my loyalties should lie’. Smug bastard.”

You rolled your eyes, remembering the dumb look on his face and the haughtiness of his tone.

“What? He’s not letting you play because of that enchanted bludger last year? But you were only helping Harry!” Hermione said, her voice indignant.

“I think that’s the issue, Hermione,” Harry said almost guiltily.

“Well, that’s hardly fair, is it?” Ron said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. He winced as he prepared himself for your reaction, quite surprised really when you only shrugged and kissed your teeth.

“Not to worry, he’ll put me back in after the Ravenclaw match,” you insisted, the clock on the wall catching your eye. “I’m irreplaceable.”

You winked at Ron as you walked backwards, finding it best not to be late for Snape’s study session given your recent antics with George. Your laughter followed you out the hall as you left Ron blushing bright pink in your wake.

There was a large possibility that you might have lied. Or perhaps you just hadn’t made up your mind yet. It really didn’t matter though because Potter sure was lucky that you’d dragged yourself to see the match in the end. You obviously hadn’t anticipated him falling so hard so fast, but given that you’d been lurking by the players’ entrance to the pitch to get the best view of the game, you were by far the first to reach him when he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

You perched on the bed opposite him, sitting on the railing and hoping that Madam Pomfrey was too occupied with the injured Hufflepuffs to scold you.

“He looks a bit peaky,” Ron said, leaning over Harry who, admittedly, did look rather pale. “Doesn’t he?”

You cursed yourself for being so worried about Harry Potter, of all people, but despite your best intentions, you had a soft spot for the kid and you reasoned that anybody falling out of the sky would’ve earnt exactly the same response.

“Peaky?” George scoffed, looking at his little brother.

“I’d expect,” Fred snorted.

“He fell over a hundred feet.”

“Yeah, Ron. Let’s walk you off the Astronomy Tower.”

“See what you look like.”

You rolled your eyes. They really were idiots.

“Probably a darn sight better than he usually does,” Harry said, his voice croaky. You snorted, leaning forward to get a better look at Hogwarts’ resident skydiver. George glanced at you, grinning at the noise you’d made as he moved to sit by Harry.

“You gave us a right good scare there, mate,” he said, shaking his head. Despite your oath to never do so, you had to agree with him. Harry’s eyes flicked from George to the twigs that were left of his broomstick nestled in Ron’s arms, and then finally to you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning.

You chuckled as you stood up and made towards the bed, walking past Longbottom, who edged away away from you nervously.

“Just checking you’re still alive, Potter,” you said lazily, catching George’s eye as you turned to leave.

“She helped bring you in,” he said, looking at you for a moment before bringing his attention back to Harry.

“Seems like she’s your guardian angel on that quidditch pitch,” Fred joked, his laughter echoing down the corridor as you took a leisurely stroll back to the dungeon.

You didn’t see Fred or George for a while after that which was worrying, to say the least; if not only because that meant that they were planning something. You managed to muster a smile for Harry in the hallway one time, figuring he needed it with all the rumours going around about Sirius Black being his godfather. It probably came out like more of a grimace, you mused. 

It felt normal, though, to return to your life before your truce with George Weasley; back to your normal friends and normal problems that didn’t involve teenagers falling from the sky. Disappointingly, with your friends busy revising for the upcoming Transfiguration test, a test you knew that you’d ace, you almost convinced yourself to ditch Hogsmeade for the day. However, something about the fresh snow on the ground or the idea of Christmas just around the corner swayed you and you found yourself huddled in your coat, rushing through the halls of Hogwarts.

The last people you expected (or wanted) to see were Fred and George, walking through the quad with matching woolly hats and coats. You debated it for a moment. You could just ignore them, but no doubt they’d notice you shadowing them at some point. And you were friends now, right? 

The thought struck you with less distaste than you imagined it would and it seemed, at that point, that your mind was made up.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be at Hogsmeade?” you shouted, quirking an eyebrow at them as they turned around, waiting for you to catch up.

“Couldn’t we ask you the same thing?” George said, grinning cheekily.

“I was just leaving, actually.”

“Oh, splendid,” Fred said, his tone mocking. “We absolutely have to go together, then.”

“If we must,” you said, the perfect picture of resignation.

“You know you love us, Y/N,” George said, elbowing you in the ribs.

“I’ll pretend that’s true for your own sake.”

“You see that, George?” Fred asked, pointing at his brother as you walked between them. “And they say Slytherin’s aren’t kind.”

You couldn’t help the smile that lifted your cheeks.

It was unfortunate, really, because you couldn’t shake that smile for the rest of the day. Against your better judgement, you joined the twins in the Three Broomsticks, laughing and joking over pints of butterbeer. If anybody asked, the whole experience was deplorable, but in reality, you were actually enjoying yourself. So much so that you didn’t even notice the stares you were getting from across the pub.

“Can you believe that?” Seamus asked, jerking a thumb at you. “Did you ever think the bloody Weasley twins would be friends with a Slytherin?”

Dean shook his head, snickering into his glass. “No chance, mate.”

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[fluffypeachwriting]

Can I request yandere Jiro who has a crush on a female upperclassman? 🥺👉👈 Preferably the possessive and doting type of yandere (;ŏ﹏ŏ)

Happy White Day!  <(￣︶￣)>

Jiro was the last person you expected to garner any attention from when you considered how popular and busy he was. Not even the girls in his class caught his eye, so his frequent trips to your classroom were a surprise. Well, not after the tenth time in a week. There was always a sappy smile on his face when he offered to walk you home – a total contrast to how he roared at anyone who interrupted you talk. He was definitely the boisterous kind but nothing much less than sweet and wholesome.

At least, well-meaning.

In fact, when you saw a note shoved in your locker – written in scrawl – that asked you to come to the rooftop after school ended, you smiled. You had given him a little chocolate gift for Valentine’s Day. Your classmates saw it as obligatory chocolate but it was more of a general thank-you gift for the little things he’d done for you. Any time you lost something he would have found it and delivered it safely before the day ended; it was always things like that that conveniently began your outings with him. And he never asked for anything in return, in fact, he adamantly refused to accept any kind of payback. All he’d ever wanted was for you to “spend a lot of time with me before you graduate, yeah?”

He may as well have had a senpai-is-in-distress radar. The conversations you had with him were full of energy, though there was an underlying feeling about him that you couldn’t quite place, like he always had the upper hand in every interaction. But it could just be his nerves – he was talking to someone a year above him, after all, so you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, the final bell had rung for the day. The time had come, and there was no way to predict how it would go.

Jiro wasn’t exactly the punctual type, so when class was let out late you didn’t hurry much. However, contrary to your expectations, you spotted a familiar figure through the door to the roof.

“You’re here! Did I keep you waiting?” You asked, skipping over to where Jiro was leaning against the rooftop railing, “Class was late and stuff, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No! You could never… I don’t mind waiting for you. Even if it was a while, heh.” Jiro was unusually sheepish as he turned to face you, “I’ve waited months for White Day so, a few minutes is nothing. I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” His tone was unsettlingly quiet. His cologne was not.

Words came out of him like he’d thought them over countless times.

The next part, even more so.

“I wanted to give you this.” He handed you a flat box and put his shaking – betraying – hands behind his back.

“Jiro! You didn’t have to –”

“I did!”

“…”

His assertive bark shut you up. Instead, you nodded with a smile, trying to stay cheery. With cold hands, you opened the box. A single, giant, shortbread cookie sat in the middle, on top of light blue tissue paper. It was burnt and crumbled and broken in a few places – clearly handmade. In blue icing, a simple ‘Happy White Day’ was sloppily written on the top. When you looked back up, Jiro was biting his nails while waiting for your reaction. He was red in the face and practically sweating a river. His eyes were trained on your face, and it didn’t seem like he had blinked in minutes.

Like he wasn’t fully in the moment until now, Jiro realised you were looking at him and his entire body perked up. He puffed his chest then leaned in to gauge your emotions as accurately as he could.

“Do you like it?” Jiro cleared his throat; it wasn’t a question, “You like it, right?”

“I can tell you put a lot of time and effort into this, Jiro.” You weren’t lying. It would be a safe bet to assume he wasn’t a total culinary expert. It was the thought that counted, “Did you do this on your own?”

“Mm hmm!” His eyes twinkled at your acknowledgement. It must mean a lot to him. He rubbed the neck of his neck, giggling to himself, “Only me…”

Then he cleared his throat suddenly, making you jump.

“I’m sorry to scare you,” Jiro shuffled forward, his eyes flicking between the cookie and you, like he was fighting some mental battle. “I… I wanted to make a bunch of cookies but… if I made too many…” He had to catch his breath mid-sentence, “… they’d take your attention away. I can’t have that. You know, when I was baking, Saburo said I should use a recipe… and Nii-chan too… but they don’t get it. I know that my heart would tell me the good way to do it. They said I was in over my head but they don’t know anything about this – what we have. They don’t get why I need to be perfect to keep you safe and happy.”

An hour may have passed before he gasped in realisation, “I… No!” He yelled.

His previously shaking hands became a blur as he snatched the box from your hands and threw it to the rooftop floor behind him, not looking away from you in the process. It broke into pieces, the box and paper flying away in the wind.

“Jiro?! Your gift!”

“I can’t let it!” He grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the railing as his voice strained, “I can’t let that shitty fucking cookie have any off your attention! You liked it, that’s enough! No, it’ll never be enough.” He gripped the railings either side of your head and pressed his forehead against your own, “No-one else gave you gifts, right? Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter. You know, I got so many gifts today. Valentine’s Day too. I don’t care about them. Yours was genuine. I could feel all the thanks and the…”

Sudden silence. Wind fluttered over the rooftop yet the air was thick. A suffocating heat radiated from his body – you could smell it too. The sweet boy who blushed when you talked to him was gone. In his place, an immovable force was pressing its aura onto the atmosphere you breathed in.

“… the l…” He looked worried, yet insanely strained all the same.

“L? Jiro? Are you okay?” You tried to sound caring. Not as if you didn’t care, but being trapped didn’t put you in an easy spot.

“I wasn’t finished. I meant the… love. The love in your gift. That’s what it was, right? So I put in all of my love into the gift three times as much. And I’d do it a thousand times just to see that happy smile again. It’s so precious… Hey, you love me too, right? Right?”

The wind howled and whipped at your skin.

You could barely hear the sounds of a van pull up to the school, and two pairs of footsteps jump out.

[poptod]

The Nose Kiss (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: A dinner and offerings to the Gods devolves into something much quieter.

Notes: yesterday was the last day of my fast so today is the feast! i thought it might be fun to write something relating to that and my kemeticism thing, which is definitely there edit: i just realized all my fics lately have been about ahk im sorry lmao WC: 1.3k

+

The first thing on the list was obvious––you didn't even need to get them, as they were a common staple in your diet, especially around the festival of Opet. Dates, specifically medjool, and though you already had a box at home the thought of pitted dates came to you. If you got a couple nuts and coconut sugar you could stuff them, which was always a nice treat.

Number two and three on the list were a vegetable mix and olives.

Ahk mentioned liking olives.

You paused in the middle of the grocery store, staring at the list on your phone. Ahk would like all of this, actually––why hadn't you thought of that before? How many years have you celebrated this festival in a row and never thought of your friend?

Despite knowing exactly how the museum came to life every night, you'd never met anyone besides him. It was one of those evenings (or midnights, really) where restless wanderlust had you roaming the streets, looking for buildings to scale and the tallest places you could get to. The museum ended up being one of them, and that was where he saw and accosted you, a scared look in his eye that held you petrified.

That was a while ago now, though. It had to be... two? maybe three? years since you first met him, and considering the state of his existence he was a wonderful friend. And a very nice man to dream about.

One time he mentioned being a vegetarian, which happened right around the time he told you Teddy, a man also from the museum, recently became vegetarian as well. You wouldn't mind planning the feast around that. Thus you continued your shopping, a faint smile on your face as you imagined Ahk's upcoming look of surprise.

His hand in yours, you led him down the hallway, watching as he trailed behind you with a vacant but confused smile.

"I, the child of Khonsu," you began as you walked, starting a recitation of a prayer that you and Ahk had long since memorized. It would act as a sort of hint.

"I, the son of Ra," he returned.

"I will live and have power beneath the branches of the tree of Hathor. There Re appears in his horizon, his Ennead following him. Raise yourself, Re who are in your shrine, that you may lap up the breezes. May you swallow the northern wind, may you entrap the day, may you kiss Ma'at, may you sail the Sacred Bark to the Lower Sky, may you reckon up your bones and turn your face to the beautiful West."

In chanting unison you recited the prayer, the image of your shrine flashing behind your eyes. By now you remembered every detail of it, how it looked when you fell to your knees and prayed, soft utterances falling from your lips.

Your shrine at home was much prettier, much better managed than your portable one, but the smaller worked fine for your spot on the museum roof. Ahk never needed a jacket, but you did––for that you brought several thick blankets, wrapping up around the shrine and your pillow seats. Candlight surrounded the mobile shrine, illuminating the small painting of Khonsu in the back. For Ahk you brought an image of Ra, painted in faux gold, and gifted to him a couple months back.

His eyes drew first to the food. Plates of well-seasoned peas, turnips, lettuce, garlic, and onion––stacks of honey cakes and bowls of stuffed dates. In the middle lay the offering dish, one made of carved and stained wood and lined with flowers.

"How did you...?"

"Tied it all up in a big blanket and hauled it up the side," you said with a laugh, eyes set intently upon him, gauging his reaction. Thus far he looked delighted––beyond delighted. Almost... blushy.

"This.. this is –"

"Unwarranted?" You finished for him, raising a single brow.

He nodded.

"Don't worry," you said, once more taking his hand and leading him to sit down on his pillow seat. "It's the festival of Nehebkau today. Perfectly good reason."

"I suppose so," he said softly, attention drifting between the different plates.

"Offerings first?" You asked, and he nodded.

For the proceeding five minutes you stacked a fair amount of food onto the offering plate, lighting an incense whose smoke drifted high into the night sky. Without a roof above you, the scent remained distant, which suited you just perfectly for the meal you began to eat. An interesting yet uninvolved conversation flowed between you two, your attentions divided between the food and one another.

While Ahk finished up the remaining bites on his plate, you dug into your bag in search of your lute. You didn't play it often, more suited to guitar, but on the go it was a much lighter and smaller instrument.

"I lov–"

"Do you want to –"

You spoke at the same time, stammering and chuckling when you both recoiled your statements.

"You go first," you said, hands falling into your lap as you fidgeted.

"No, it's alright. What were you saying?"

"I just – wanted to know if you wanted to make some music," you said as you raised the lute into his line of sight.

"Sounds wonderful," he said with a happy, but dissatisfied, smile.

He taught you this one. The words. Together you translated it into English, though you rarely sung such songs in that language. Still, as you sung, you turned the words into English in your head, following along with the beat of your own voice.

But I, I am excited by your love alone

My heart is in balance with yours

and may I never be far from your beauty.

Yet I have departed from you now,

and when I think of your love,

my heart stands still within me.

The taste of sweetcake

Turns bitter on my tongue

The scent of your nose

is what revives my heart.

I have obtained,

forever and ever

What Amun has granted me.

"You sing that song well," he commented as you finished, quiet so as to not break the spell of music. "It becomes you."

Before you could answer he leant forward, eyes concentrated deeply into yours as his fingers raised to brush the hair off your face. Your heart skipped a beat as his skin touched yours. The two of you had never been all that touchy with each other––the furthest thing you'd done was a quick hug, leaving you clueless as to the sudden affection.

"You asked me about that one line in there, the one about the noses. When was that?" He asked, his head quirking to the side.

"Um.. a couple months ago maybe? You never gave me a direct answer. Why do you ask?"

He paused before opening his mouth, eyes straying to the side as a blush overtook him.

"It's called a nose kiss," he said, though apparently still couldn't bear to meet your gaze. "When a couple rubs their noses together and take in each others' scent."

You leaned forward the two inches it took to reach his face, closing your eyes as you bumped his nose with yours. At last his eyes turned to you, wide as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Once he did so he laughed––blushed a deeper red, and looked bashfully to the floor.

"Not quite that short," he mumbled through the soft laughter wracking his shoulders.

So you tried again; leaned forward with a gentler touch, brushing your noses together instead of bonking. Still your eyelids fluttered shut, focusing on the scent of him, the feel of his warmth, the rush of your heart at every grace. He sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders tensing until your hand came up to cup his jaw. Then he relaxed, moved into you, slotted his nose beside yours and landed the softest kiss right above your lips.

"Better?" You asked.

He kissed you again, this time on your lips.

[bangchanshehe]

The Orphanage pt.12 (M)

Growing up in an orphanage was hard, but when three men kidnap you as collateral, you find out that your life prior to being trapped in a house with twelve men was a piece of cake. Your loved ones were more corrupt than you thought and your enemies are closer than ever.    

OT12 X OC (INCOMPLETE)

word count 2.7k

When Suho kicked the door shut your heart sank and you didn’t really know what to do. You stared up at him with wide eyes and your mouth closed shut in a pout.

“What? Are you embarrassed that I walked in on the two of you?” Suho asked with a raised eyebrow and a sideways smile.

You couldn’t decipher if Suho was seriously mad or not or if he was playing games with you, so you decided to not say anything and just nod your head in silence. You let your head hang to the ground as you waited for Suho to yell at you and Chanyeol or leave frustrated.

“Hyung!” Chanyeol whined like he was upset “Stop doing that. You’re obviously making her nervous?”

You looked back at Chanyeol to see him giving Suho a cut it out type of look and you felt your body relax a bit. When you started to realize that Suho wasn’t upset you turned to look up at him to gauge his mood for your own.

As you peered up the two of you made eye contact and Suho continued to look at you with a smirk. After a moment he finally took a few steps towards you and he ran his hand over the top of your hair as if he were petting you. in a moment of relief, you let out a soft sigh and allowed yourself to turn your head into his palm as if you were nuzzling it.  

“what princess? Was I not enough for you?” he asked sweetly but you knew that he had darker intent

You opened your eyes and gazed up to him in shock. Was he seriously trying to do this here? With Chanyeol? You had never had a threesome before and to be honest the though did cross your mind, but you were much too nervous to initiate that with both men since Suho was so aggressive on his own.

“no. sorry.  I was just caught up in the moment” you said softly enough for him to barely hear.

Suho continued to smile down at you and he looked over at Chanyeol for a split second before he looked back down at you. “don’t be sorry.” He stated as if it was no big deal “I enjoy watching as much as I enjoy participating.”

“hey! Even if you were okay with watching who says that I’m comfortable with it?” Chanyeol said barking back at him.

Suho let out a soft chuckle before he removed his hands and put them up in the air in surrender. “fine.”

You stood up on your feet and adjusted your hair and clothes, so everything sat straight while you looked around the room for a distraction.

“why don’t we get comfortable and watch a movie” you said trying to redirect the entire mood.

Chanyeol jumped in the bed and quickly settled in on his side and Suho nodded his head in agreement. The two of you approached the bed and Suho gestured for you to sleep in the middle. You gave him a small smile and then scooted in as far as you could. The bed was a tight fit for all of you to share and you were hyper aware of the amount of physical contact you had with both men’s legs.

The entire time during the movie you tried to focus on what was going on, but you were constantly bringing your attention back to the men every time that one of you moved, which was most often Chanyeol.

“what’s wrong?” you asked him quietly.

“Nothing.” We quickly responded as if he was in a panic. “it’s just a little hot since were all in the bed.”

“here” you said reaching for the covers trying to pull them off him and over to your side.

But as soon as your hand landed on his comforter to pull back, he had a firm grip around your wrist. You looked up to him confused as to why he was suddenly stopping you if he was hot. It was the only solution that you had if the three of you were going to stay in the bed like this together.

“don’t. I- “he said in a whisper yell before he let his head fall back against the headboard.

You watched him confused as he sat there in silence. If you were going to help him then he was going to have to tell you what was wrong. Quickly he turned his head over to Suho to see if he was paying attention or not and looked back at you and let out a sigh. He pointed over to Suho and then made a sleeping gesture and you looked over your shoulder for confirmation.

Again, Suho was fast asleep, tucked under the covers with his hands behind his head. You smiled at him and then turned back to Chanyeol who was looking at you as if he had kicked a puppy.

“Chanyeol tell me what’s wrong and ill help you.” You pleaded with him.

He stared at you for a few moments before he quickly pulled you in for a passionate kiss. You were startled by his quick movements at first but as soon as you felt Chanyeol deepen the kiss you shut your eyes and allowed him to take control of the moment.

His tongue wrapped around yours and he lightly tugged on your lips with his teeth before he pulled away from you and took big heavy breaths. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before Chanyeol gently placed your hand over his firm erection. Your eyes widened involuntarily and then you peeked down to see what he was so desperate to hide under his covers.

The tent that you hadn’t noticed before was standing proudly right in front of your face. and you didn’t know if you were so worked up because you had been lonely lately, if it was from hooking up with Suho or if you really liked Chanyeol… but you instantly felt a heat rise inside of you. You looked up at Chanyeol who was giving you ‘fuck me’ eyes and you softly whispered “bathroom.”

He stood out of bed and immediately pulled you out with him. Holding you by the arm, you were dragged behind him as he strode inside and then shut the door behind the two of you.

Once you were inside Chanyeol stared down at you as if he wanted to tear you limb from limb. And for a moment you were almost afraid of how primal he looked. But without another moment of hesitation Chanyeol quickly wrapped his arms around you and began to kiss you fiercely. As you both fought with teeth and tongues Chanyeol picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He turned the two of you around and sat you down of the bathroom countertop before he quickly pulled his shirt over his head.

You stared at his muscles and you subconsciously bit down on your bottom lip. He still had such a slender and tall figure, but his muscles were thick and toned. His abs were deep and defined and his shoulders were broad and strong.

You reached out to gently trace your hand over his gorgeous figure but Chanyeol stopped you. You looked up into his eyes worried that you had crossed some sort of boundary that you shouldn’t have. But Chanyeol looked down at you with such a dark and lustful expression that you knew that you hadn’t crossed the line.

“I’m not in the mood for sweet and gentle, beautiful.” He said as he lifted you up once more so he could remove his oversized sweats off your body. “I want you right now.” he said huskily as he pulled his own sweats down with his boxers.

You stared down at his size and your heart fluttered. If you thought that Suho was large, then you were in for a treat. Chanyeol’s cock was long and girthy and veiny just like Suho’s was, but he had at least an inch or two over Suho.

He stepped towards you and pulled your hips flush to the end of the bathroom countertop. You put your hands behind you to steady yourself and you lifted your knees to Chanyeol would have access to your womanhood.

With one hand Chanyeol pulled your panties aside and with the other he lined himself up at your entrance. He looked up at you with a smoldering glare and you stared back. He leaned in for a sloppy kiss and while you were distracted with it, he sunk his cock into you inch by inch until he was completely sheathed inside of you.

You gasped and stared up at him with wide eyes, while he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a quiet groan.

“fuck you’re so wet” he said through shallow pants as he rested completely inside of you.

You wrapped your legs around Chanyeol’s waist and held onto him by his shoulders. He bent squat down a bit and held onto your hips as he began to move his hips in and out slowly, allowing for you to get adjusted to him.

“please… harder Chanyeol” you begged him.

It was enough for him to straighten up and pound into you at a speed that had your eyes rolling back. And within minutes you could feel yourself start to lose your control. You had let go of Chanyeol’s shoulders and leaned back against his mirror, using it for support while Chanyeol roughly pounded into you.

You stared at his face and groaned at his look of lust and concentration. His eyebrows were pursed together, and he looked down at where your bodies met as he slid in and out of you.

“you’re so sexy” you said to him with a growl.

Chanyeol threw his head back with a groan after hearing your compliment and then quickly pulled out of you. Still holding onto your hips, he pulled you off the top of the counter, so you were standing in front of him. He bent over and kissed you harshly before he spun you around, so you were facing the mirror and then bent you over the countertop.

He took a moment to appreciate the view of you spread out in front of him with your ass up in nothing on but his oversized t-shirt. “you look so good like this” he said before he gave you a firm spanking.

You lightly yelped out in surprise and covered your mouth so you wouldn’t be so loud and possibly wake up Suho. And you were happy that you did because right as you silenced yourself Chanyeol completely bottomed himself out in you.

You groaned loudly into your hand and looked up at him through the mirror with half opened eyes. His beautiful body was starting to sweat and glisten in the dim light of his bathroom and you watched as his shoulders and abs tensed up as he fucked you from behind. Suddenly Chanyeol scanned up your body and he slowed down his thrusts into smooth drawn-out ones as he made eye contact with you.

“this pussy feels so good” he said in a whisper to you and you gave him a half smile.

“Do you want to cum in my pussy Chanyeol?” you asked him back in a taunting manner forcing him to groan and throw his head back so he could concentrate on not Cuming too soon. “cum in me” you said just loud enough for him to hear over the skin slapping against skin.

Chanyeol let out a loud growl before he picked up his pace once more. But this time he pounded into you so hard and so fast that you were unable to speak or see anymore. Your vision had completely blacked out and you wanted to scream in ecstasy as your orgasm took control over your body, but your voice was completely gone.

You pushed back against the mirror and into Chanyeol’s hips as you began to twitch and loose complete control of your body.

“fucckkk” Chanyeol groaned as he completely paused his thrusts so he could feel you twitch and squeeze around him. “oh, I’m gonna cum” he exclaimed.

He was about to pull away from you so he could pull out, but you held onto his wrist, keeping him firmly in place. He looked up at you as he came inside of you. He twitched and let out his held breath as you felt his semen splash against your walls. and he thrust his cock into you a few more times to push his cum into you as far as he could.  

The two of you sat there for a moment while you allowed your heart rate to calm down and you caught your breath. And when Chanyeol had finally pulled out he quickly started the shower so the two of you could rise off.

When the water was warm enough, he held onto your hand and pulled you in with him. The two of you stood in between the shower head, sharing the water and Chanyeol watched you as you lathered up your skin and rinsed yourself off.

“are you going to continue to stare at me like that all night?” you asked him.

He smiled and laughed quietly “I’m sure that you would be just as starstruck as I am right now if you were in my shoes.”

You looked up at him with curiosity “starstruck?” you asked.

He nodded his head with a smile and gave you a small hum in agreement.

“what an amazing review. Ill have to put that one on my resume.” You said taunting him.

Chanyeol chuckled and stared at you for a moment before he finally talked again “I really do mean it when I say starstruck… I have been following your artwork for years now. and every chance that I get to go to Eugene’s or any other artists night around town I go in hopes that I can meet your or at least catch a glimpse of you.” He admitted “I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel so connected to your art and I knew that I had to meet you.”

You smiled up at Chanyeol and stood on your tip toes so you could give him a sweet kiss. You were thankful for Chanyeol’s sweet words, but you didn’t quiet know how to respond to him. So instead you let your kiss do the talking.

“come on, let’s go back to bed.” You said softly.

Chanyeol nodded and turned off the water before he stepped out of the shower. He held out his hand for you so you wouldn’t slip on the floor and you took it with appreciation. He handed you a towel before he wrapped himself in one and you watched him with satisfaction as water dripped down his body.

When the two of you were covered up you tried your best to open the door without waking up Suho. Chanyeol quietly pushed the door open and peeked outside to check on Suho and let out a sigh of relief when he was still sleeping in his comfortable position.

He pushed the door open wider and dashed off to his closet with you in hand. He handed you another clean set of clothes and you thanked him by sneaking one more kiss from him. Chanyeol chuckled at you and pulled his boxers up and a shirt over his head, never once breaking his smile.

When the two of you were dry and clothed you tip toed to the bed and tried your best to get in without causing too much noise or dipping the bed to fast and jolting Suho awake. You held your breath as you and chanyeol laid down and pulled the covers over yourselves giving each other a smile for your success.

“Your bathroom truly has horrible acoustics.” You heard Suho say over your shoulder in a very calm voice.

You stared at Chanyeol with wide eyes and your heart dropped…. Busted again.

[hournites]

Say that we’ll stay with each other 

An aged-up Jealous!Rick hournite fic for @samarasketch 

~.~

They grab coffee at the diner to catch up every week. It’s not the only time they see each other, but missions require zero personal life talk for safety, as learned very quickly into their JSA run, and their texts just aren’t sufficient enough for the way they miss each other’s company.

Beth rearranges the cutlery, waiting for Rick as he picks out two desserts from beneath the glass window by the cash. It’s late and quiet, Rick had to work overtime to finish a deadline,  so she took a nap at her office until he swung by with his car to pick her up. 

The steaming coffee is in front of her, untouched. It’s been a long day and she’s second guessing whether or not caffeine is actually such a good idea after all. 

“Wow,” Rick greets her, sliding into the booth across from her. He’s no longer slicking his hair back with gel and the small change makes a massive difference in how he looks. His hair is thick, falling over the front of his face, long enough to frame his eyes. Those eyes are lit up now, bright hazel. They sweep over her, taking everything in like he needs the moment to process. 

The silent gesture pushes Beth to look down at herself, wondering if she spilled something or was showcasing a wardrobe malfunction of some kind. 

“You look amazing. I noticed before but your jacket was on.”

Beth relaxes, settling against the leather backing of her seat. He grins at her, which she returns easily. Rick is her best friend—has been for a very long time. Her lips curve around the rim of her ceramic mug. “Oh, thank you! I was on my date earlier over lunch. I didn’t want to show up in my lab coat.” 

“Right,” he replies. “Dr. Leho, was it?” ” Rick twirls his fork into the perfectly cut marble cake slice on the pretty small plate. “How’d that go?”

Beth suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. “Dr. Leon.”

“Oh, was that it?” As if he hadn’t deliberately botched the name of her date in the first place. Rick has met Denny before. Beth’s mom had invited him to her surprise birthday dinner that she organized with Courtney a few weeks ago. He was nice, bought her a book of easy recipes that he swore got him well fed through night shifts that he thought she’d enjoy. The gesture was thoughtful and was what made her agree to giving him her number. Rick was there for it all, one eyebrow arched high in what she was able to tell was silent judgement as he kept sharing a look with Yolanda. 

“—And it went fine.”

He raises that brow again now. “Just fine?”

Beth shrugs. She already knows how Rick feels about why she’s giving him a chance. He’s not exactly her first choice when it comes to dating—Rather, he wasn’t much of a choice at all, pestered into giving the youngest single doctor working at her mom’s floor the time of day. 

Her parents are getting concerned she’s throwing herself too deep into work without any support. It’s not precisely fair—Juggling a new position at Central City emergency with spontaneous secret crime-fighting against metahuman villainous egomaniacs does not give a woman much time to find someone new to love. Long shifts end in face-planting into bed until the next one and there’s nothing more she’d rather do than shove off her work shoes to do that. Only a handful of people have enough grip on Beth’s heart for her to sacrifice her evenings—Courtney and her family, Yolanda, Jade, Wally, her parents. And while she enjoys the pretty dress and matching pair of high heels for dinner, her energy to sustain a relationship would require an extension of self that she’s not sure she has to offer. 

She’s tried to explain this, cutting out the important JSA parts, which she self-admits would strengthen her argument.

“It was a nice lunch.” She’s already preferring dessert with Rick, though.

“Tell me about it.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“What, he was that boring?”

Beth sighs. She finds herself describing her entire lunch break, from waiting for Denny to scrub his hands from surgical fluids to grabbing her hand to chatter about his day without a moment of pause for her to get something into the conversation until their food had arrived. It’s because he was excited to be on the date with her. Beth’s mom was talking her up to him, no doubt, clearly that was the case by any indication of how her mother kept talking about Denny to her over the phone too. So Denny was likely nervous, he kept letting out a barking type laugh after something he thought Beth should find funny. Beth couldn’t exactly be annoyed for his rambling to no end, she was the queen of that when she was younger. Her mom probably thought it was nice they had that in common. Except, it’s not. Beth’s excited verbal amusement park went away with age. Beth learned to keep her mouth shut when she needed to, she’s hoarded too many secrets. 

“There’s one thing though that bothered me a bit,” she admits finally, tapping her cut nails against the table. “He asked me what...pleased me... the most.” 

Rick frowns at her. “Huh?”

She flushes, eyes flitting away as she mumbles, “In bed. What I find pleasurable in bed.”

Rick bristles, his mouth dropping open. “Did you tell him?” 

“After what he told me first? I kind of had to. There was a family sitting within earshot of us, it was barely noon so I sort of said something vague, I don’t exactly remember, I think my brain is trying to block it out. It was embarrassing.” 

“God, that’s tacky.” 

She knew Rick would say that. “I think he was trying to assess our compatibility?”

“You make him sound like some socially inept robot.”

Beth lowers her mug, biting her tongue on calling herself a socially inept robot. She reaches over the table for the pot the waitress left for them after Rick’s second refill, instead. He lifts it for her when notices, pouring her a fresh cup and slides over the basket of sugar packets and creamers.

“Thanks,” she says, then returns to their conversation. “I think he was trying to be suave.”

“You hate that word! You’ve said so yourself!”

Had she? Beth wrinkles her nose. It’s crazy how much of their lives they’ve shared together. “In high school, maybe.”

“I vividly remember you telling me that talking about sexual preferences with acquaintances freaks you out.” That’s true. Whenever a horror story kinky sex accident patient shows up in Beth’s emergency room describing their incident in full detail, it takes all of her professionalism not to drop her clipboard and run out from second hand embarrassment. 

She shifts in her seat and explains, “He was my date, Rick.”

“So that’s what, half an hour of getting to know him? You’d think someone that went to med school would have the patience to keep it in their pants.”

“Rick!” She gapes at his bluntness because he’s just flinging it out there, dragging Dr. Leon’s entire personality with barely any effort at all, what’s worse is that he’s being unintentionally funny and now she’s trying not to laugh.

“What? This man is clearly not for you. He’s not your type.”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Then what is?”

Rick looks down at his plate, quieting. He hasn’t really eaten yet, just danced his fork all over that cake. She’s half tempted to ask him for it if Rick’s not hungry. She finished her lemon square in four bites.

 “Well...”

“Well?”

"Well... He’s not my type... for you. He’s not good enough for you. He sounds like a secret sleaze."

Beth stops trying to defend Denny after Rick says that. She’s not sure if he’s so adamant because he can tell the way she’s not really interested in him, but feels the need to make her mom happy and is trying to give her an out, or if he honestly thinks Denny is not a good person. She’s been a superhero for ten years now, Beth is pretty sure how to gauge a person’s character. There’s nothing wrong with Denny Leon the way Rick is painting him. It’s hard because she knows there’s no real spark, but she’s willing to try. Chemistry doesn’t develop like that over one day. 

Beth thinks about her mom again. She just wants Beth to have a fulfilling life. And she had found Beth’s father while also steadily making a career as a respected research clinician. What’s Beth’s excuse then, to say finding someone isn’t possible?

“I don’t have a type, I’ve barely dated at all. The man I’ve spent most of my time with is you.”

Rick takes a while to respond, but his eyes are on hers like he’s waiting for an afterthought to accompany her last sentence. It’s sincere and gentle, and for the second time since they’ve met here today, she finds her heartbeat picking up because of the way she’s being seen. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“It’s just—“

“What?”

He takes another moment before answering. “Why are you forcing something with someone you have no desire to connect to? Are you not...Happy?”

His question takes her by surprise. She stammers, feeling more heat rise to her face. “Why are you asking me this?”

Rick drags a hand over his face and leaves it there for a moment, like he’s just trying to breathe. Eventually, he sweeps his hair back up over his head, and he strikes a nostalgic resemblance to the angry boy Beth latched onto in tenth grade whose soul she watched soften over years of time. Her heart pangs at the memory of the way things were. When they spent all week side by side, and didn’t have to schedule coffee dates that inch towards midnight around saving each other in costumes with relics because of their hectic lives. 

“I care about you,” he finally says. “I just don’t want to see you exhaust yourself over someone that’s not worth your time. You should be with someone who makes you feel how I feel whenever I’m with you.”

She smiles at that. “I love you too, Rick.”

His own smile falters, something dims in his expression, she’d almost call it wistful, but that’s not exactly a feeling Rick has in his emotional repertoire. He lowers his gaze to his plate again. 

“Hey.” Beth places her hand over his. “Are you okay?”

In high school, Rick was on track to becoming a mechanic like Pat until the man turned him around by the shoulders and walked him through scholarship applications for college. To the surprise of practically everyone in Blue Valley except his inner circle of friends, he graduated with honours in both chemistry and physics, and is now an independent research scientist for a big pharma company. He says he likes his lab, but the regulations of being under a company contract means there’s only so much experimentation he can get by with on his own. Beth has been encouraging his recent talks of starting up his own research lab for JSA, but he seems stressed thinking of taking that beyond the realms of idealism.

His hand freezes beneath her palm. He glances up at her again without words, like he’s struggling with what to say. The creases between Beth’s brows deepen further with concern. “Rick?”

“I’m fine,” he lies. The smile is so fake it hurts that he thinks she could be fooled by it. 

“Come on, it’s just us. Something’s bothering you. Is it work? Did your uncle contact you for money again?”

“No, I’m fine. I promise.”

“Rick—“

“You don’t have a type. You just have a person. I know that because you’ve been my person since I was seventeen. You don’t need your mother’s fancy surgeon prodigy to sweep you off your feet, Beth. You have me.” 

“I—”

Her pulse rushes in her ears. She’s honestly speechless. Beth just sits there. Rick searches her face for some type of recognition she can’t give back because she’s just confused. She’s blinking back unexpected tears, the hand she has over his shaking, because there has to be something more to this, the gravity behind everything, but her mind keeps hitting against a blank wall. She understands what Rick is saying but not what he means. 

He sees her distress and slips out of his booth, sliding into her side. “Hey,” he says, wrapping an arm around her as she presses her wet face into his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s okay.” 

Her stomach drops at the horrible way his voice sounds scratchy, thick with regret. That’s when it clicks, and the tears fall for real.

Rick is in love with her. 

She’s not crying because she’s upset. Blindly, she reaches up for his face to see him, those fond hazel eyes blinking back. They used to be so hardened and guarded, but it’s just openness now, with her. It’s late, the diner is almost empty, nothing but dim lights and the only waitress busy cleaning up behind the counter. It’s just them, in their special spot. And it’s just them, their solid partnership, that Beth needs in her life to carve out time and effort and feelings for. He’s been trying to articulate this over and over since the evening began. Hugging her tightly, lets out a long breath. The solace he finds in her, alone. The relief and love. How she feels it in equal measures, how it’s always been there.

“I didn’t know.”

“I never really told you.”

But he has, really. He’s shown her since they were kids. 

She touches his face, guiding him down so he could kiss her the way she suddenly desperately wants.

He does, kissing Beth deeply until her head goes dizzy and the light feeling is not something she ever wants to let go of. There is no extension of self when Beth is with Rick. No room to make. He already is in her future, can have all of her time. 

[dokidokey]

catch me falling

summary: in a world where quirks and soulmates exist, number one pro-hero deku must have angered the universe to have a soulmate he is supposed to take down － y/n, the league of villains’ newest recruit, and also his childhood best friend.

pairings: midoriya izuku x reader

bingo slot: on the run

prompts: “stay. i need you more than you think.” / soulmate au

genre: angst

warnings: cursing, violence, deaths, and kiribaku

word count: 2,317

notes: happy birthday, deku! this is for @bnhabookclub’s celebrating deku event, in honor of our number one boy, midoriya izuku’s birthday! also a cross-post for the hero camp bingo event! hope you enjoy! my event masterlist can be found HERE.

“Dabi!” You shout, both in desperation and pain as the throb on your sprained ankle flares up, and the raven-haired boy zooms past you.

“Keep up, princess!” He yells back and he’s gone.

“Fuck you,” you wheeze, eyes pinching close from the pulsing pain.

The alleyway you’re hiding in is dark even though it’s the middle of the day and the sun is high up. You faintly hear the blasts from Ground Zero somewhere, along with the general chaotic noises that you and Dabi started up.

The League of Villains had been quiet for a long time, with Shigaraki plotting up new crimes to take down these ridiculous Pro-Heroes. It’s been months since you caught Shigaraki’s attention and proposed to you the idea of joining them. Of course you accepted, and here you are now, with a sprained ankle and an asshole of a crime partner.

You’re drenched in sweat, the thick cloak around you not helping relieve the warmth in your body. It’s one of the things Shigaraki thoughtfully gave you to conceal your identity to the Pro-Heroes, but mostly to the Number One and Number Two.

It’s one of the reasons too, why Shigaraki wanted you.

You grew up with Bakugou and Midoriya. You were there when Bakugou got his Quirk, the same jealousy Midoriya had tingling within you. When you got yours though, it was Midoriya that left. It did something to get your bond stronger with the blonde boy. You were an arrogant kid too, so getting along with Bakugou was easy.

Despite the toxic relationship between the two boys, you were there to balance them. Sure, sometimes you’d join the jabbing at Midoriya, but when it gets too much, you were always there to stand up for him. But everything changed (when the fire nation attacked) during the last months of your middle school. Your family died because of a Pro-Hero and you were left with nothing but the scalding hot hate for every Pro-Hero. You stopped attending school because you didn’t want to spend the money your parents left behind on it. What good would it bring you anyway?

You resorted to stealing and being a street child when the money you’ve been keeping with you was stolen. For years, you lived in the streets with rats, under sweltering hot days and stormy nights. Sometimes you’d cry yourself to sleep, wondering if life would be better if you only sought help. For sure Midoriya or Bakugou’s mom would be more than happy to take you in, but your grief turned you blind to the world.

You hear a shout nearby and, using the large ass garbage can you’re propped on, you push yourself up with a wince, your ankle flaring up again. You’re barely walking away when a voice rings on the other end of the alleyway.

“There you are!”

Oh great. Your one and only friend’s soulmate is here. Red Riot barrels toward you, quickly followed by the gradually increasing sound of bombs going off. Your heart stutters when you realize it’s Bakugou. What startles you more is the green-haired hero running along.

“You won’t fucking get away from us!” Ground Zero calls after your quickly retreating form. Good thing the shadow of your cloak obscures the heroes from seeing your face. Ignoring the pain on your ankle, you push through, internally cursing Dabi for leaving you behind like this. You’re a hundred percent sure Shigaraki won’t be happy when he knows.

The wind whistles in your ears as you run away, all sweat and rattling breaths. Blindly stretching your arm behind, you release a laser beam from your hand.

“Kirishima!” Ground Zero shouts in alarm as the sound of a body hitting the concrete reaches your ears. You turn to look back at what happened, and that’s your greatest mistake. The hood of your cloak falls off and you make eye contact the with the Number One hero.

There’s a current that starts at your heart and spreads on the tips of your fingers and toes, shaking your whole body so bad you fall to your knees.

Deku abruptly stops as he feels the same wracking current through his body, almost falling over.

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters in wonder? Hurt? Disappointment? You don’t know. After all, you’re not even sure yourself if your old friend’s soulmate is still alive after that reckless trick you pulled. His eyes are wide as he stares at you, slowly standing up.

The blonde hero whips his head back around from the red-haired man on the ground to you when he hears Deku, gaze hard and cold.

“Fuck you,” he spits as he cradles the unconscious man on his lap, the side of his head bleeding. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

You see it, clear as the day. Bakugou’s right hand is shaking is it sizzles and sparks. But you’re quick, and you’re not thinking, so you raise your arm up before you realize what you’re doing, and a beam of light shoots off your palm again.

He barely dodged it with a heavy weight on his lap, but you’re running off before he blasts an explosion on the wall near where you stood.

“What are you doing fucking standing there!?” You hear him roar before you’re turning the same direction Dabi ran off earlier. “Go after her!”

There are crackles in the air as Deku runs after you. You shouldn’t have looked back. You should have just blasted another laser from your hand. Maybe if you did, you won’t be feeling this－ this guilt. You’re a villain, for fuck’s sake. You’re going to hurt people eventually, but it to be your old best friend’s soulmate? You didn’t ask for that. You didn’t want that.

“Y/N!” Deku calls your name. He’s close. Your feet have nothing against his Quirk so when you see a broken door, you go for it. The stairs leading up seems to go on forever. There’s an ungodly stench wafting through the air, probably a dead cat or something. What did you expect from an old, abandoned building anyway?

Your feet is heavy on the stairs and your breath is labored. There’s a reason why you hated too much running. Plus, the guilt of your unnerving act earlier is not helping.

You’re high up when you hear thumping footsteps following you. Shit. You’re not sure if you can make it out of here alive with your ankle. When you reach the top, it’s a clear room with shards of broken glass and ripped apart planks. There’s another spiral stairs leading to the rooftop. You run, feet banging against the metal steps.

You’re blinded by the light when you fling the metal door open. Running as far away from the door as possible, you’re now standing near the edge. It’s not long before Deku barges in, barely dodging the ray of laser you shot at him.

“Y/N!” He breathes out in relief, gauging your reaction. He reaches out a hand carefully, stance still on guard. “Let’s talk this out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snarl. God, it’s so fucking hot here with the sun glaring down at your cloaked form.

“You’re my soulmate!” He cries. It’s not a happy cry. It’s not the kind of tone of someone who just found their soulmate should be like. “Let’s talk this out, please. Like－Like adults. Like old friends.”

You still at the word. Friends. What is a friend? Do you even have friends? The League aren’t your friends. They’re just people who has the same hatred you have for the heroes.

You consider his proposal, hands clutching your cloak tight around your body. You nod curtly and Deku visibly exhales, dropping the defensive hands that were in the air earlier.

“You’re. . . You’re with the League?” He asks, and his expression is unreadable. You nod again. Deku looks down briefly. “I heard your parents died. Why didn’t you tell Kacchan and I?”

You can’t tell him how your hurt turned to anger. You can’t tell him how you didn’t use your head and let your emotions rule you.

“It’s the Pro-Heroes that killed my family. They’re the reason why I was left alone. They took everything from me!” You reply, voice gradually getting louder as the pain blossoms on your chest again. “And you! Both of you! You wanted to be a hero so bad, Bakugou always bragged about how he’s going to be the number one. You were both dreaming of becoming the people that killed my family! And you expect me to come to you?”

Deku is panicking as you throw those words at him, eyes widening again.

“It was just an accident, Y/N!” He counters your shouts. “It was an accident. It was years ago. Can’t you let it go?”

Your eyes are stinging and your hands are hot, the familiar heat of your laser beams moments away from spilling again. “How fucking insensitive,” you bark out. “Is that what becoming the Number One made you? You weren’t the one who lost your family. You weren’t in my place so stop talking like it’s that easy.”

Deku flinches. There’s remorse in his eyes as he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, let me go.”

His eyes widen, palms facing you again as he takes in your words. “N-No! We’re not done talking!”

“There’s nothing else to talk about, Deku,” you scowl, crossing your arms. “If you’re sorry, let me go,” you repeat.

He’s conflicted as his eyes darts from yours to everything else on the rooftop. “Come with me,” he says, desperate. “We’ll－ We’ll start over, and you－ you can become better! You won’t be tied with the League anymore.”

“But I want all the ties I have with the League.” You break his heart right then and there.

Hurt flashes in his eyes, a frown settling on his face. You can’t help but study his features. He’s grown so much. The remnants of the boy Bakugou used to make fun of isn’t here anymore. Standing before you is a determined hero and a brokenhearted man who just wants his soulmate.

“But I need you,” he says, and the words stab at your chest.

“You don’t need me,” you remark, “what you need is that man I may have killed.” You shift on your feet and the pain prickles again. Deku’s eyes falls down on your ankle when you grimace. “If I don’t get killed by you right now, Bakugou definitely will.”

He’s quick to find solutions to your problems. “I’ll protect you!”

That pulls a dry laugh out of you. “I don’t need protection, hero. I fucking need to get away.”

He’s distraught. Running a hand through his hair, his eyes are glassy as he stares you down. “Stay,” he pleads. “I need you more than you think.”

You’re a villain, but being one does not rid you of basic, human feelings. Your chest contracts when his voice shakes. You see the little boy you used to help patch up back then. You see the little boy gazing at you and Bakugou with awe. You see your old friend hurting, and you’re the reason why.

It’s enough to shake any villain awake.

And you’re standing there, eyes locked on your soulmate. Your soulmate. The person you’re destined to love, to live with, to grow old with. Deku is your soulmate, and it settles in your heart right that moment.

“If. . . If I stay, then what?”

There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, shining brighter than the scorching sun in this hell of a day. A smile is slowly growing on his face and his freckles are dancing with the way he’s talking so fast. His physical appearance may have changed, but somehow, he’s still the same old Deku who mutters too much.

A gloved hand reaches out towards you. “So. . ?”

The act is intimidating. Your hands twitch on your sides, weighing out your options again. But it’s been years since you felt warmth and love, safety and peace. The League could never give you that.

Your heart is pounding in your ears as you take the first step toward him. A lone sweat trickles down your temple down to your left cheek and that’s when a furious shout thunders through the air, coming with a blast that has you skidding backward. There are rubbles and smoke and a cry from Deku before you realize you’re falling.

Bakugou came crashing on that door with his gauntlets ready to fire, you the target. There’s a high-pitched, steady ringing in your ears and your vision is blurry, the brunt of the explosion too much for you. You weren’t even able to do anything. You didn’t even notice nor hear he was there.

Even if Deku comes to save you, you know it’ll be too late. Maybe Bakugou’s soulmate did die, and you’re going to pay for his life with your own. You’ll never know. You didn’t even know what Deku looked like before you’re falling. But that’s okay, at least before you’re gone in this world, you know someone was ready to take you as you are.

And maybe － maybe heroes aren’t so bad, after all. You just hope Dabi gets what he deserves when Shigaraki finds out you’re dead. And you hope the universe will give Deku another soulmate better than you, since it seems you were a wrong match, because you didn’t even have the chance to feel what it’s like having one.

The pain was only for a split second, like a sprain on the ankle, but a million times worse. But then you’re out like a light, very much resembling the glint in the Number One hero’s eyes as he leans down to see your body lying lifelessly in your own blood.

more notes: big thanks to zee @pixxiesdust​ and zann @savagetrickster​ for betaing this! u guys are the best! 🥺 also, aha, the fact that it’s for deku’s birthday does not stop me from writing angst and break all of your hearts (and his too lol)

[cole-winchester]

18 Miles Out...No Going Back

Reader rescues an injured Shane after Rick, taking Randal in tow, leaves him for dead at the walker infested DPW lot.  Will two broken souls be able to join forces and survive this new world?  Or will they butt heads and drive each other apart?

Tags:

@hanaissupergirl @coffee-obsessed-writer @spnhollis @harrysthiccthighss @sourwolf-sterek32 @superdeadwalker @mcuwomxn @miss-cap21 @hannuhbuhnana @stormy-weather-in-classics @hellosassymcsasserton @samanthawells89 @mannls @thanossexual

Part Two

Shane grunted and tried to brace himself against the passenger door as your truck balanced out of the fishtail.  

After a few moments you eased up on the accelerator.   Realizing Shane was staring at you, you glanced over.  Blood glistened from his brow and bridge of his nose.  His gaze hard and wary but your eyes flicked towards his torso.  His breathing was heavy, painful.  His left arm cradled across his ribs, blood seeping from behind his hand.  

Must've been stabbed, walkers didn't get close enough to him.

A sun glint caught your attention and your gaze landed on the handgun he had trained on you in his lap.  

You raised your eyebrows as you looked up from the gun.  'Really?'  

'Turn the truck around.'  His voice was low but authoritative.

'What?'  

'Have to go back.'

You let out a sharp laugh shaking your head.  'Not happenin'

'Stop the damn truck!'  His voice barked inside the cab.  

Gripping the wheel you slammed the brake pedal to the floor.  Shane braced himself against the dashboard, glaring at you as you turned in your seat to face him as the truck rocked to a stop.

'Go back to what exactly?  Your 'friend' that basically killed you back there by leaving you as walker bait?'

His jaw hardened as he glanced away from you out the windshield.  's'not like that.'

'Yeah?  Why don't you enlighten me then!'

'The hell with this!'  He seethed as he jerked open the passenger door and stumbled to the pavement.  

Let him go, he obviously has a death wish.  You don't need him.

No...you weren't that type of person.

'Ugh!'  You followed after him.  'Hey!  Dumbass!'  You called out to the stumbling moron a couple yards away. 'Just how far you expect to get bleeding all over the place?!'  

'I ain't yer problem, sweetheart!'  His steps began to slow, the sun, heat and his wounds taking their toll as his adrenaline waned.  He shook his head and pressed on.

'Alright, I get it, you're a big macho dick.  Now get back in the truck before-'  

As if on queue, he stumbled and collapsed to the pavement.

'-that.'  You sighed and jogged up to his lifeless form and rolled him to his back.  

Still breathing.   

An unmistakable snarl came from behind you, causing your heart to leap to your throat.  

You spun to your left and sure enough,  a walker about 20 feet away was heading straight for you.

'Shit shit shit!'  You scrambled around Shane, lifting his shoulders enough for you to lock your arms around the front of his chest.  Willing the adrenaline to pump faster you began dragging him back towards the truck.  'Please wake up.  Please wake up.'

Just leave him!  Save yourself!

You stole a glance up at the walker only to find 3 more joining in behind it.  

'Fuck!'

Panic began to creap into you.  You didn't have a knife on you and your only firearm was the rifle currently in the bed of your truck.  

You cried out in frustration as you continued to haul the both of you backwards.  You looked over your shoulder at your truck... ten feet to go.  The passenger door was still open from when Shane bailed moments before.  

Your legs burned as you forced yourself to move faster.  The snarls and groans growing louder with each painful step.  

The tail of your truck came in your periphery.  8 more feet.  The walkers were almost on you. 

You'd never be able to get him into the truck without getting eaten, so you leaned down and slumped Shane against the rear tire.  As you stood to reach into the bed for your rifle, a nauseous stench enveloped you and you were slammed from behind.  Pain shot up your arm as you landed hard onto the pavement beside Shane.  You quickly flipped to your back and screamed as the walker clawed and snarled above you.

You clamped your hand around its throat trying desperately to keep it from biting your face off.  Your arm threatened to give way as you frantically looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon.

Then you saw it.

There, in the rear waistband of Shane's cargo pants...was his handgun.

You reached for it, just barely brushing it with your fingertips.  Your hand was slipping, the skin of the walker tearing beneath your grasp.

You cried out, your arm barely holding the walker at bay as you forced yourself to reach again for the handgun.  

Please be fucking loaded!

Your fingers wrapped around the grip and in one swift motion you yanked it from his waistband, raised it and fired through the walker's eye socket.  Shoving the corpse off of you, you sat up and began firing at the remaining walkers now inches from Shane.  

You dropped all five of them and lowered the gun as you leaned against the bed of the truck to catch your breath.  

You grunted as you moved to your feet after a few moments, checking the clip in the gun before stuffing it in your waistband.  

'Alright, let's try this again.'  You steadied yourself as you began to drag Shane back to the truck.  

After a few non-ladylike noises you'd managed to get Shane up and into the cab of your truck and shut the door.  

You settled back into the driver's seat and looked over at the still unconscious man, gauging his breathing for a moment.

'I sure hope I'm making the right call here.'  You said quietly, turning the key as your truck roared to life.  

***

You made it back to the small cabin in record time.  The cabin belonged to your uncle who had used it as a hunting camp for years.  You were pretty sure you were the only one who knew its location besides him.   Buried in the thick forest barely reachable by vehicle, it was the perfect spot to hide out. 

You eased the truck up as close as possible to the front porch and killed the engine.  The sun was setting and with the thick tree over, it was practically dark already.  You had to move fast. 

'Hey,'  you looked down and shook Shane's shoulder.  'Shane, can you hear me?'  

His eyelids flickered slightly as a weak groan rumbled in his chest.  

Good enough.   He was alive at least.

You threw your door open and slid out of the truck.  Turning slowly in place you quickly scanned the area for any movement.  Last thing you needed was a walker to come up on you again while dragging him inside. 

You shook your arms and puffed out a breath, gathering yourself.

Leaning back into the truck, you maneuvered Shane onto his back.  Hooking your hands under his arms, you began sliding him towards you.  Backstepping, you grunted as you continued to haul Shane out of the truck.  Somehow you misjudged, his weight overbalancing you and knocking you to the ground in a heap.  

'Shit,' you wheezed as you struggled to roll his unconscious body off of you.  'Fuck, man, you're heavier than you look.'  You hauled him into a semi sitting position and moved behind him, locking your arms across his massive chest.  

After a few painstaking minutes and several embarrassing grunts, you managed to drag him up the steps and into the cabin.  

Leaving him on the floor in the entryway, you quickly ran back outside, securing your truck and gathering your bags.  

Dropping everything, you locked the door behind you before readying yourself to move him further into the living room.  You knelt beside him ...and froze...

'Shane?'

He wasn't breathing. 

'No!  No, the fuck you don't!'  You immediately began hard chest compressions, feeling the cartilage crunch beneath your hands.  'You are not dying on me after all of this!'  You leaned down and gave him mouth to mouth before checking for a pulse.  

Nothing.

'Shane!'  You threw your full weight into your fist as you pounded onto his chest.  'God dammit!'  You opened his mouth and blew hard, forcing air deep into his lungs.  His body jerked and gasped, causing you to flail backwards.  His hand clamped in a vice grip around your neck before you could move fully off of him.  His eyes wild as he continued to gasp below you.  Your hands failed and clawed at his trying to pry it from your throat, your lungs screaming.

Just as your vision began to darken, his eyes shifted and rolled.  His head lulled to the side as his hand released you, dropping to his chest.

You fumbled backwards, choking in panicked breaths as your mind reeled.  You were sure he'd turned and that was it, but it was merely an involuntary reaction of him being brought back to life.  

'Holy...fuck.'  you ran your hands over your face for a moment before your mind kicked back in.

He needs stitched up otherwise he will die and turn.

You gathered yourself and clambered back over to him and continued moving him further into the living room.   With the adrenaline coursing through you, after having almost died yourself, you'd managed to haul him up onto the couch.  Retrieving one of the medical kits from your packs, you went to work.  

Cutting his shirt from his body, you quickly found that there was more than one stab wound.  Your heart sank. This was going to be more difficult that you'd expected.

You huffed out a breath and set your mind to the task at hand.  He was not going to die on your watch.   You worked quickly and diligently as you cleaned the wounds and wiped the caked blood from his body.  

Now to focus on the stitches.  You couldn't tell how deep the wounds were and you hesitated.

What if all of this was for nothing?  What if he died overnight and then decided you were a perfect midnight snack?

No.

Get your head together.

You chewed your bottom lip as you gathered the needle and thread.  You were going to do everything in your power to make sure he lived.

Why?  You don't even know him.  Say he survives and then just kills you.  

No.  He won't.

You sterilized the needle with a lighter before turning back to him.  You drew in a breath and went to work.

 

*~*~*~*~*

A/N:

Thanks so much for hanging with me! I'm sorry I don't update quickly. My daughter takes up most of my energy so I'm writing as I can! I hope you're enjoying this so far! I'm working on Part Three and will post as soon as possible! Let me know if you want tagged! 💜

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Ten

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“That’s the idea?”

Mistface narrowed his eyes and looked back at Flyfang, who was giving the oak forest in the very far distance a doubtful look.

“It’s unoccupied at this time of year,” Greyleaf said, just a little ahead of her. “Or at least, the cats who could be there have a low chance of meeting us and knowing anything about the Clast.”

“It’ll be mighty wet,” Mistface added. “Smell of the mud and plants ought to cover us up, long as it stays that way.”

“Yeah, but sometimes the Marish hunt there.” Flyfang grimaced. “I’m not inclined to meet them again. Not just yet, anyway.”

Darkpelt picked up her pace to walk alongside Flyfang. “If we’re careful, we won’t. You’d be surprised what cats can miss when tree-bark is soaked.”

Flyfang surprisingly seemed more assured at this particular input. She tilted her head back and forth, considering, before saying, “I guess it’ll do for now.”

“We can’t be here long anyway,” Beetlefoot said, trotting alongside Greyleaf. “I don’t intend to be a contrarian, but the rain could take a while coming back, and by then…”

“Our smell will be everywhere,” Redheart finished. “Yes, I was considering that. But you two…” she turned her attention to Mistface and Greyleaf. “You grew up by this forest. If you’re confident this will work for a time, I trust you.”

“We are,” Mistface and Greyleaf said together.

“Then we ought to move a little quicker.” Redheart nodded to everyone behind her and sped up into a trot. The party immediately followed along after her without a word from anyone.

Mistface, at the front near Redheart, glanced back a few times to gauge how everyone was doing. The warmth of the sun had brought some small sense of comfort when they had started south, their fur drying well (if a tad stiff from bits of mud still clinging to their coats). It helped that there was some form of a plan, however small it was, for the next course of action. It gave everyone at least the façade of comfort. As they walked off their nervous energy, cats were in a line of pairs and talking quietly to each other, sometimes to someone ahead or behind them. Laurelclaw and Littlepaw were at the back, trying to stay cheery and share their experiences of where they had traveled in their lives (evidently, neither of them had been in a proper forest before). Darkpelt was talking so quietly to Flyfang that Mistface couldn’t pick up their conversation, but by her tone, it was oddly sympathetic, and Flyfang had a nostalgic look on her face. Beetlefoot and Greyleaf were behind Mistface, discussing the leaders and their next course of action.

Mistface was nearly alongside Redheart, but he had kept quiet almost their entire travel today. Not only because he didn’t feel like talking, but because he wasn’t sure how to actually hold a conversation with a cat like Redheart – a deputy, an outlaw, and a bearer of secrets he was barely keeping composed just hearing about, nevermind being forced to shoulder alone.

Or at least shouldering it alone until she met his brother.

It stung a little, he had to admit, that Greyleaf hadn’t entrusted him with the truth about StarClan. He could understand why, at least; Greyleaf was terrified of his knowledge and clearly felt like telling anyone would get him labeled as crazy, if not accused of heresy. Still, Mistface couldn’t help feeling some hurt. He and their mother would have listened to him, wouldn’t they? They’d believe him, right? Mistface believed him now, and supported him. Did that not count for anything?

“Mistface.”

As If he’d been caught saying something rude by his mother, he jolted and turned to the right. Redheart had slowed down to walk alongside him and was giving him a very…

Interesting. She looked like she was guilty of something. The usual exhaustion in her eyes was even deeper now, muddy with regret and shame. Mistface said nothing, waiting.

She leaned a little closer to him and spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

Mistface’s ears swiveled and he squinted a little at her. “Pardon?”

“I mean to say that I’m sorry he’s involved in this.” Redheart looked ahead again, head down like she was pulling something behind her. “I was so relieved that there was someone else out there who knew the truth. I couldn’t know what was going to happen then – I don’t think anyone would – but all the same, I put him in a difficult position. He couldn’t refuse to help. I couldn’t, if it was me.”

“Mm.” Mistface’s eyes flicked to his brother. “He’s awful helpful like that. Would be why he’s a healer.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Redheart said.

“I know what you mean.” Mistface heard a tinge of snappiness in his voice and immediately corrected it to something more polite – not necessarily friendly, but polite. “I won’t lie and say I got a good grasp on what you two dealt with for so long.” He narrowed his eyes. “I also won’t say that I know my brother well as I do, because clearly I don’t.”

Redheart sighed quietly. “No one does. But it’s my fault that he disappeared and left you and your mother behind. And it’s my fault that you were sent to spy on us – that you were alienated from your own kin.” She looked back at him, guilty again. “I don’t know how he feels about it now, but I know you can’t be happy, and so I want to apologize to you directly.”

Mistface didn’t say anything for a while. He turned the apology over slowly and carefully in his head, sure, but there was a bit of spite in him making her wait for his response. He knew that was petty. He couldn’t help it.

“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose I can’t blame you for bein’ desperate.”

Redheart’s face was hard to read. He didn’t know how she reacted in her head. She just faced forward and kept walking. The two of them were silent, listening to the conversations behind them.

The sun was sinking well into the southern horizon before the group had reached the edge of the oak forest. It had warmed up considerably, but the air coming from the shadows of the woods was almost chilly. Greyleaf and Mistface took the lead now, stepping into the much softer earth beneath the trees with everyone hesitantly following them.

As they had predicted, the ground inside was still wet. Better still, the plants clinging to the moist bark of the trees were giving off (admittedly rather unpleasant) scents that almost clogged the nose. The oaks’ boughs refused to let the sunlight through, forcing it to sneak through tiny openings in the leaves and dot the ground in the perfect way to mask the cats from any eyes that may have been looking into the woods. The trees were thick, too; within half a minute of walking, they couldn’t see the valley outside beyond tiny, determined streaks of light that were dimming with every step.

“And it’ll be foggy in the morning, too,” Greyleaf told everyone. It was nice to see him so enthused, especially given their current situation. “This is about as safe as it’s going to get before we come up with a course of action.”

“If you say so.” Darkpelt’s nose was wrinkled. “Boy and howdy, if it isn’t impossible to get your bearings with just your nose.”

“It’s hard with eyes too.” Laurelclaw was watching Darkpelt grimacing with every sniff and poorly hiding his amusement. “It’s pretty dark, and everything’s the same color.”

“Perfect place to hide some fugitives, then,” Mistface said. “Now, if we can find any dry places to sleep…”

It took some more wandering around, but Beetlefoot did eventually call that he had found a cluster of oaks where someone had tried to make some dens before evidently giving up and leaving. They were nestled under the thickest roots, and they were shallow, but at least dry. With that, Laurelclaw stood on watch while Flyfang, Mistface and Redheart went to hunt. Flyfang took the opportunity to bring Littlepaw along to teach her a few tricks. Mistface half-smiled overhearing Littlepaw practicing her pounces and being cheered on by Flyfang.

Dinner was at least less tense than this morning – prey was small, but no one complained, and Littlepaw’s pride at having caught a squirrel by herself seemed to warm the air in the circle they had formed. There was very little conversation after the meal. Perhaps there didn’t need to be. Everyone was thinking or trying to scrape mud off of their paws and onto tree roots. It didn’t feel awkward, which was nice.

Eventually, it got too dark for any running around or exploring, so the cats picked out their dens and said their goodnights. Mistface shared one with Greyleaf and the others paired up close by. It was quite soothing, having his brother with him again. Mistface could forget the sting of betrayal (what a dramatic way to put it, honestly) and just be grateful that they weren’t isolated from each other.

The others must have felt some sense of security too, because the woods went quiet in moments. Soft, deep breaths were the only sounds in the stillness of the nights. It was peaceful.

For almost everyone.

 ---

 A sort of horrified curiosity had been buzzing around Littlepaw’s head. All afternoon, she’d wondered what, exactly, Redheart and Greyleaf had seen all this time. They had avoided saying exactly what StarClan – or this thing pretending to be it – looked like. Perhaps it was too horrible to describe, but that just made her all the more curious.

Besides, she thought, shifting a little to be more comfortable – besides, this raised so many questions about her dreams. How could she have never suspected anything? How did Meliclight appear so often and stay the same no matter what? How was this the same for every other seer? Was StarClan really that good at pretending?

All of these questions and more whined like a mosquito in her ears, until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She had the distinct sensation of something pulling at her head before she fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes, she gasped. The field of her seer dreams was grassy, sunny, beautiful flowers with butterflies flitting around. Now, it looked… almost abstract. The grass was bowed and bent at an angle, like someone had broken all of their stalks. The earth under her paws felt more like a thick pad of lichen on a cracked rock – like she was barely standing on something at all. The air was almost too dense to breathe, and there was no sunlight or shadows to give her an idea of her surroundings. Everything felt so flat, so empty. She could hear nothing. Smell nothing. The only real sensation she had was a creeping dread along her spine.

Hesitantly, she called out, “Meliclight?”

Something vaguely shimmered in front of her. She couldn’t tell what it was before the image splintered and faded away.

“M-“ She had to breathe shallowly to speak. “Meliclight, it’s Littlepaw. Are you here? Are- are you safe?”

Nothing. Littlepaw’s tail started to shake unconsciously.

“Please tell me you’re real,” she said, more to herself than Meliclight.

“-paw.”

Littlepaw blinked.

All around her was a voice, stuttering and faint. “-Ii-i-i-ttlepaaaaw. Li. Sssssssssf here.”

The dread sparked into fear. Littlepaw stepped backwards a few paces, looking around, trying to find some glimpse of Meliclight. Why was the sky grey now?

“StarClan?” she whispered.

“IIIHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” The feeling of land faded from under Littlepaw’s feet. “Trust- truuu-uuuuUAAAA-“

The words split off into a deafening wail. As if that was a signal, the field shattered like ice. Littlepaw cried out as everything drifted apart. Suddenly she was just floating, choking on the air, looking around wildly for someone, anyone, that could help her.

A deep, rattling, ancient breath.

Littlepaw turned her head forward again.

Aspects above.

She understood now.

 ---

 Mistface was jarred awake by a shriek. He caught Greyleaf scrambling to his feet and climbing out of the den. He followed his brother, fur bristling as the shriek cracked even higher and louder.

Everyone was outside now, with Laurelclaw halfway inside one of the dens. He pulled himself out backwards, hauling a thrashing Littlepaw by the scruff.

“Littlepaw!” Flyfang was trying to shake the apprentice’s shoulder with a paw. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

“What’s happening?” Beetlefoot was standing stiff and bristling harder than Mistface.

Littlepaw shrieked again, claws unsheathed and paws flailing like she was fighting something off. Flyfang ducked around her and bit down hard on her tail.

That did the trick; Littlepaw’s eyes shot wide open and she raised her head, hyperventilating. She stared at the rest of the cats like she wasn’t sure they were real. Flyfang immediately went to her head and started grooming her like one would a fussy kitten.

Laurelclaw lowered his head to about as close to Littlepaw’s eye-level as he could without crouching. “Are you okay? Were you having a nightmare?”

Littlepaw swallowed air like she hadn’t breathed in hours. “I saw it.” Her wide eyes went to Redheart and Greyleaf. “They’re telling the truth.”

Flyfang stopped grooming. Slowly, everyone’s heads turned to the deputy and healer. Greyleaf shut his eyes, brow creased a little as if in pain. Redheart almost looked heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I wish you didn’t have to see it.”

Darkpelt took a step forward. “StarClan? The thing?”

“Mhm,” Littlepaw said, and from the sound of her voice it was almost too much to respond. She was shaking violently and now staring at nothing. Laurelclaw leaned over her a little, protecting her from her visions, and Flyfang resumed grooming. They both looked like they could use some soothing themselves.

Everyone looked at each other. It was silent. Appropriately. There was nothing that could be said now to comfort any of them.

[lilhemmo]

alone together - DAY THREE

Summary: A daily installment series of one shots on being in quarantine with Goku (special appearances made by master roshi and others!) Come back each night starting 3/18 for a new fic for the next 14 days!

AO3 LINK Rated: T+ (for now, ya nasties!) Word Count: 3.2k bc idk how to write anything short and sweet. Warnings: language, a lil inapproppro roshi, spicy thoughts, a lil fighting A/N: thanks to nikkisramblings for the idea and the inspo!! and also for always being down to talk about the world’s favorite himbo! let’s make this quarantine crisis bearable :) also. i am channeling my fave human @thegodbucky​ to try and write the best himbo there ever was to exist.my goku does NOT compare to hers but! 

vegeta: day 1 | day 2 | day 3 goku: day 1 | day 2 | day 3

PREVIOUSLY...

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re teaching you how to fight,” his voice is quieter, softer now. It almost feels a little different as his thumb brushes over your shoulder. Goku rests his chin in the crown of your hair, taking a shallow breath, “I can always use instant transmission to give ya’ a hand, but I want you to know you can take care of yourself.”

You pat him on the stomach, allowing yourself a small feel of the toned muscles there, “I’m glad I have you in my life, Goku.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Goku squeezes your shoulder and you let yourself soak in the sun and the waves, cherishing a moment of closeness like this because you’re never quite sure when it might be ripped away.

You knew that the training Goku had been putting you through would hurt, eventually. However, you didn’t expect to wake up one morning practically unable to move. You had just enough energy to force yourself through a shower and brushing your teeth before you collapsed back on the bed, still wrapped in your towel with your quilt pulled up at your waist. You’re completely out of breath, muscles tightening with each gasping part of your lips.

“Hey, you okay?”

If your body could tense in embarrassment, you would, but you can’t.

You turn your cheek against the pillow, barely able to see much more than the outline of the side of his body with your blurry vision, straining your eyes as best you can. You accept defeat and close your eyes, chewing on the inside corner of your mouth before speaking, “Goku, not all of us have Saiyan muscles. Us mere mortals can’t go from sitting on the couch to fighting a super person without a little bit of pain and fatigue.”

“Pain just means you’re doing it right!” Goku giggles, scratching the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you allow yourself a half-second of fear at the thought of him trying to make you spar again today.

It takes you a moment, but you bunch your hands under your chest and try to push yourself upward. Your face twists in pain as you try to look at him, and the Saiyan rushes forward, knees on the floor as his palm frames your cheek. He tilts his head, “Wow, you’re really hurtin’, huh?”

“Yes,” you grunt, face in the pillow now because you can’t bear to admit your weakness. You can’t even pay attention to the fact that you’re only in a towel, the heat of his arm against you burning like a flame. The only thought that pulses in your mind is one of hurt. Your muscles cry out as you shift around under the blanket and towel to try and be at least slightly more comfortable.

Goku pinches your cheek, a bright smile on his face, “I can give you a lil’ squeeze, if ya want! Krillin and I learned how to massage out the cramps from one another when we were training with Master Roshi when we first started learning martial arts.”

The sudden reality of the thin material keeping your bare everything from view finally settles in and a blush fights its way onto your cheeks and the tops of your ears. You licks your lips and shake your head, “N-No, Goku, it’s fi-oof.”

His stocky body is settled atop your backside, knees digging into the mattress on either side of you. Goku is heavy, oh Kami is he heavy. You struggle to keep in the sharp cries of pain at his muscled form sitting on you, weighing your body down. He means well, all he’s trying to do is help you, but wow is he currently putting you in pain. Goku is laughing but your mind is far from humored, all you can pay attention to is the way the towel shift on your body, the small knot at your side practically begging to come undone.

“This is kinda in the way,” he mumbles, thumb brushing under the lip of the fabric separating his body from yours. The scraping of his fingernail against your tender skin forces goosebumps to bloom down your arms and legs, but you convince yourself it’s just the air conditioning. Your toes curl and you try to keep yourself from arching up into him so you don’t seem like a needy animal. The last thing you need is to be closed in this tiny house with Goku knowing how you feel.

You huff, attempting to regulate your voice, “Goku, I’m not about to take off-”

“What? I’m just sayin’, if you took it off, it’d be so much easier! My hands are gonna get all stuck!”

He’s whining and it shouldn’t make your stomach flip over, but you can’t control the way your body flushes at the thought of him undressing you, or how he would feel pressed against you, bare and warm. Your skin starts to sweat at the imaginary way his hips would move and how his hands might touch you.

The base of his palms roll into your shoulders and you have to clamp your mouth shut so you don’t let out a groan at the sensation. You keep your eyes closed as his thumbs travel over your spine, gently rotating in circles as he works his way downward from the top of your neck.

“Wow,” you almost moan out the word, eyes rolling around in your head as his hands work out the kinks in your muscles. You swallow the thick lump growing in your throat and it feels like you can finally breath without being in immense pain, “You really are good at this.”

“Told ya!” Goku says. He giggles and traces over your shoulder blades before digging his palms into the muscles there.

You’re practically lulled to sleep with the motions of his handles, the push and pull of his calloused fingers and palms soothing as he works your muscles. As you sit on the cusp of consciousness, you’re just barely able to withhold the gentle noises that sit on your tongue, begging to be let out.

He must be putting you under some sort of spell because your fingers move under your body just enough to reach the knot holding the towel in place. You unhook it and tug the fabric from your torso, revealing your bare shoulders and back, the towel pooling at the juxtaposition of your body and Goku’s.

“There you go, loosen up,” he chuckles, moving himself further down your body so he can knead away at the tightened muscles of your lower back.

When his hands come in contact with a specifically knotted muscle, you can’t help it when the moan escapes your lips.

Goku freezes, palms still pressed flat against your waist. His thighs tense and that sends a jolt up your spine and right back down to your belly. You grit your teeth and dig your forehead back into your pillow out of embarrassment alone.

“D-Did I hurt you?” he asks innocently. You can even see him tilting his head in your mind, the action playing like a movie behind your closed lids.

You grunt, trying to come up with a response. All you’re able to do is bark a feeble, “No.”

Goku tests the waters with his thumbs brushing over your rib cage, eyes trying to find some part of your face to gauge your level of pain. He sighs, “W-Well, then why’d you make that sound?”

And why did I want to make you make it again?

He leaves the last part unsaid, for fear of what it means and what you might do. Goku licks his lips and leans forward, his body weight shifting you on the bed. A hand presses to the mattress on either side of your head as he balances himself.

“It felt good,” you say quietly. You clear your throat and turn so your cheek is against the pillow and you can look at him over your shoulder. He’s much closer than you expected, his nose trailing down your cheek as you shift.

You try your hardest not to think of how you two might look in a mirror at this exact moment. His pelvis is pressed against the curve of your ass, palms dug into the mattress beside either of your temples. Your face is blushing bright pink, muscles tense as you curve upward into him. The thought alone of what he could do to you like this settles a weight between your thighs, a needy heaviness clawing at your thighs.

Goku huffs, his chest expanding, “Hmm, that’s weird.”

A wash of pink colors your cheeks and you take a short breath, thankful that he’s only considering it weird and not sensual. Then again, this is Goku. You’re sure he could spend a whole day reading and watching Master Roshi’s collections of media and still not understand why the girls were so scantily clad. You lick your lips, ready to defend yourself and your actions, but Goku returns to massaging your back and you’re lost in the feel of his hands once again.

It’s as if he’s trying to get you to make obscene noises with every movement of his hands. Goku is digging into you deeper, fingers finding the perfect rhythm and sinew as he touches you. His hands are roaming now, finding every inch of your skin to try and pull those noises from your throat again. You allow yourself just a moment to wonder if he felt pleasure at the mewling that parted your lips only seconds ago.

Unfortunately, all he ends up doing is lulling you back into a dreamlike state, your eyes glazed over as you fight slumber. You yawn, getting ready to tell him you need to take a nap, but your eyes are alert as soon as Goku’s body stiffens atop your own. His nails dig into your skin and your body flushes with goosebumps.

“Ooh,” you hear the grotesque sound of saliva being sucked back into someone’s mouth and you try to hide yourself behind Goku’s broad body.

“Goku, you wanna share?” The old man holds his hands up in the air, reaching towards you with grabby hands.

A frightened squeak barely has time to echo from your mouth before a resounding slap gives way to Roshi being smacked across the room. He slams into the bookshelf that houses all of his x-rated movies and dirty magazines, a couple of them falling over his head as he tries to make out which way is up and which is down.

Roshi groans, rubbing the growing lump on his bald head, “Hey, Goku, what was that for?!”

Tears are begging to fall from your eyelids but you don’t let them; you can’t let Goku knows how things like this affect you - Master Roshi isn’t going anywhere after all. And Goku has never been one to admonish the old-timer’s perverted behavior before.

“I-I don’t know, Master Roshi,” Goku admits, looking down at his hand like it might give him the answer. His eyes drift to you, watching as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to hide away from everyone even with your body as bare as it can be.

As soon as he sees the red of your cheeks and the way your face is scrunched in humiliation, Goku’s brows furrow and he glares at Master Roshi, “But I think you need to get out of here.”

The old man is scurrying away before Goku can slap him through the wall and send him skipping across the ocean. You release the breath you’d been holding, your body sinking under the pressure. Goku brushes his thumb across your jaw, tugging you to look at him. He notices the wince you make as you try to adjust your body and he finds himself trying to think of ways to make you more comfortable.

“Hey,” he clambers off of you, knelt on the ground with a hand still against your neck, “You wan’a watch a movie? We can take a break from training today.”

All you can think of is how taking a break from training is the exact opposite of everything that Goku has ever said to you. Ever.

“That sounds good,” you say.

When you don’t move, Goku tilts his head. He reminds you of a confused animal, what with his wide eyes and general blank expression. His mouth bobs open and closed a few times before he finally speaks.

“Well, why aren’t ya’ gettin’ up?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and bite your lip, “I-It hurts.”

Goku laughs, running his palm down over your bare back. He stands to his full height, “Well, c’mon, let’s go get you dressed!”

Somehow he manages to wrap you up in the towel when he grabs you around the shoulders and the knees, holding you like a child as he carries you into the closet to get a change of clothes.

“G-Goku,” you stammer when he puts you down. You clutch the towel to cover yourself, thankful that it’s big enough to keep him from seeing anything you don’t want him to, although he doesn’t seem very worried or distracted. He’s rifling through a couple of drawers, pulling out clothes that he thinks will fit you, mumbling to himself under his breath.

“Here, I think these will work for you.” Goku holds out a paid of baggy training pants and an undershirt. They’ll both fit you loosely, but at least you’ll be covered. You really need to do laundry. The last thing you need is to marvel at yourself wearing Goku’s clothes.

You go to reach for the shirt and pants, but your shoulder muscles lock up and you wince, crying out as you crumble to your knees. Goku catches you before the other parts of your body can react, gently keeping you upright by the elbow.

“Let me help you,” he says immediately. Goku is already unrolling the shirt before you can argue. You don’t take away the towel and he doesn’t argue, pulling the head of the shirt around your neck, settling it on your shoulders.

When he turns around to pick the pants up off the ground, you quickly slot your arms through the tee and you’re thankful it covers all of your sensitive parts. Even though Goku doesn’t really understand the implications behind what he’s doing and what he’s seeing, you do, and that’s enough.

Slowly, he helps you into the pants, tying them around your waist for you when he’s done. Goku is picking you up again to walk you into the kitchen and you can’t force an argumentative word out of your mouth. You relish in the moments spent close to his body, your head rested on his chest as you attempt to ignore your aching muscles. You also love the way that he can pull you around like you’re weightless, light as a feather. It makes you feel small in all the best ways.

He hands you the remote, silently asking you to choose the show. You land on something martial-arts related, with a side of romance.

You’re nodding off against his shoulder when he pokes you in the stomach, “H-Hey, what are they doing? Fighting with their mouths? It seems kind of gross.”

“F-Fighting- what?” You rub your eyes and sit up despite your aching muscles, “Goku, what are you talking about?”

He uses his thumb and index finger to turn your jaw to the television, where the two main characters are currently making out against the wall of the dojo. You chuckle, “Oh, they’re kissing.”

“K-Kissing?! What the hell is that?”

You can’t help the peels of laughter that expand your chest. You continue to giggle despite the resistance from your body. Goku pouts in response, crossing his arms over his chest, “Hey, why’re you laughin’ at me?”

“Kissing is what people do when they like one another,” you answer him, mostly out of breath. You pat him on the thigh, resituating yourself against his torso, “You lived with Master Roshi for how long and you’ve never been introduced to kissing?”

Goku shakes his head, bottom lip still jutted out like a child. He sighs, “Roshi is weird. I didn’t really pay attention to him unless we were sparring.”

“Such a you thing to do, Go’,” you reach up to ruffle his hair, “but when you like a girl, or a guy, I guess, whatever you’re into, you kiss them! It releases endorphins and makes you feel good.”

“I like you,” Goku says plainly, his head cocked to the side as he rests his hands on your hips, “Why don’t we kiss?”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d choke. Your eyes bug out of your head just enough for him to notice, but you try to temper yourself before you respond.

“There is a difference between friend-like and lover-like, Goku. You have to know the difference before you decide to kiss someone.” Your voice is an octave higher, but he doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in his own confusion. His eyes travel to the upper corner of the room, fingers cupping his chin as he thinks. You can practically see the gears turning.

“O-Oh,” he finally sighs, relaxing back into the couch.

Goku’s hands rest against your best, fingertips gently finding all those muscles he worked earlier, “I guess that makes sense.”

Your body relaxes into his hold when you realize the conversation is finished. You curl your arms around his waist as he settles further into the cushions, eyes completely captivated by the kissing couple on the screen as if he were memorizing their movements.

The drifting of his fingers over your body only serves to put you to sleep. Goku looks down to ask you another question, but giggles when he sees your pursed lips drooling just a little onto his gi. He brushes his thumb over your brow, the rest of his hand threading into your hairline.

Goku is focused on you, the way your body moves, falling further into him, and he wonders if this is what people mean when their spouses are built for them. He’s never given much thought to anything other than how to grow stronger, how to beat the next best guy...but, here, in this moment, you’re the only thing on his mind.

Spending an immense amount of time with you over the past couple of days has left him waiting, expecting, to have you in his life daily. He wakes up to train and the first thought he has is to wake you up to do morning push ups or jog around the shoreline.

The thing that breaks him out of his hypnosis is the very thing that lulled him under - you.

Except this time, you’re saying his name.

At first, he thinks you might be in pain; maybe your muscles are tightening again. So he starts to rub your body with the heels of his palms, working at alleviating some of the tension so you can sleep better.

However, as soon as he begins to massage your muscles, your whining intensifies. Goku removes his hands like he’s burnt you, eyes wide as he tries to understand what’s going on. He tilts his head to better hear you, tiny whimpers parting your lips as you shift around in his lap.

He leans up and the action jolts you awake, a bright red tint on your cheeks. Goku giggles, rubbing the back of his neck, “Mornin’!”

You lick your lips and try to tense your legs to keep his knee from sliding between your thighs, concealing your desire. You force a smile, “It’s afternoon, silly.”

“Yeah, I know,” he trails off, looking away from you. It takes him a moment, but he looks you in the eyes and you feel your soul sucked from your body as soon as he utters the words: “So, why were you moanin’ my name in your sleep?”

--

a/n: MWUAHAHAHAH!

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[unholyplumpprincess]

Alone With You

Here is a commission for @realityinspace featuring their LOVELY BELOVED oc Saros for Overwatch! Please ask them about their oc and appearance bc they are LOVELY! I had a lot of fun writing this but maaayyy have gone a bit overboard on what was promised.

Image for the Oc found here!

(Older content)

Reblogs > Likes

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!!!

Relationship: Reaper/OC

Fandom: Overwatch

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reaper is a trans man and if the story is continued WILL be mentioned explicitly later down the line, Bondage via Reaper’s shadow powers, hand around throat but no choking, no penetrative sex, mild flicker of angst but nothing more than a glance.

Words: 4.8k

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There were times like now that the city really reflected the thoughts going through Saros’ head. The streets of France could be full of liveliness in the city he was in, and yet now, the streets almost seemed solemn. The sky was gray, patters of rain dropping from the sky onto the reflecting concrete. It felt nostalgic, in a way, the way people were quietly going about their days with umbrellas up and above their heads. Voices but a whisper compared to the soft patters of rain and the sound of cars passing.

The sight of couples leaning on each other would have been sweet to anyone else, but bitterness held in his chest made him shy his eyes from said people. More interested in pulling his thick jacket around his body more and continuing his slow pace through the city. He had no destination, just the itch for something familiar. There shouldn’t have been a familiar face in the city, no, and that’s what he’s betting on.  

Familiar faces by now were ghosts or people who wanted to harness his power. A power that made him itch for destruction yet itched for a still calmness of a soothing lullaby.  

~Rest under the cut~

Saros passes by a window that holds a reflection. Something he ignores without even sparing a glance, just catching the dark outline of his body. Though, what does make him pause is a mannequin in the window. Its features are indistinct, nothing special. But the leather jacket and the dark beanie shoot him back into memories.

Fond ones, at least.

Of his Commander, imposing yet welcoming barking out commands for Saros, Jesse, and Genji to follow. How his hands felt checking over Saros on more than a few occasions and his gruff voice asking, “You doin’ alright, kid?” And for Saros to nod his head quickly.

A certain memory stands out, however, when he notices that the mannequin is also adorning rings on the left hand.

--

It had been a rough night, that night years ago. Jack and Gabriel had been at each other for awhile, there was a rift in their relationship and tensions could be felt if you walked into the same room as them. Overwatch had been taking the praise and all the good work done, Blackwatch had been treated like the hand-me-down child and taking all of the faults, all of the blame.

Which in turn meant Jack taking the praise, and Gabriel taking the pounding of the government questioning the orders given. Which meant Overwatch pointing fingers downstairs to the people who DID do the dirty work under the table.

And once Jack got promoted? It went all tumbling downhill from there.

Gabriel was who Saros learned his compassion and emotions from- not to mention Jesse and Genji. Jesse was happy to show Saros movies and explain why people interacted in such ways, or making comments if the movies was a romance and saying to NOT do certain things that were on screen. Such as if you made your lady angry, do not pull her into a kiss and suddenly everything would be better. Whilst Genji, on the other hand, taught him to harness his anger and hatred. Genji was a lost soul much like himself, and even hearing his story made Saros’ heart strings tug even if he wasn’t too sure how having a sibling would feel.

Or family for that matter.

However, Gabriel? Saros stuck to like glue the second he saw him. Gabriel always made comments about how he was feeling, explaining his motions to Saros as if teaching a child how to behave. Except Saros was a full fledged adult who had been kept from human interaction for so long. He’d watched as Gabriel had first opened his arms for the first time when Saros was throwing a fit, tears down his own face and frustrated at something he wasn’t sure. There were items being lifted into the air via zero gravity coming from himself and yet-

Gabriel hadn’t run or yelled at him, just held open his arms and let Saros figure out what that meant by winding his arms around Gabriel’s small waist and getting protective arms around him in general. The softness of a hand on the back of his neck and the grounding murmurs into Saros’ temple had been so soft that he had steadily calmed down.

So, this fateful night? He’d caught Gabriel in the debriefing room. His arms were crossed on the table, face buried into them and beanie set to the side. The ring he’d worn on his finger had been thrown across the room on the other side of the table, not to mention the room just felt gloomy.

When Saros had touched his shoulder softly and watched as his commander turned his head up to look at him, he could only make a choked sound at the sight of Gabriel’s dark brown eyes absolutely glassy and red like he’d been crying. And as if on command, he slowly opened up his arms for Gabriel who had laughed at him softly and rubbed at his eyes. “See, you’re learning quick enough, kid.”

Before his arms had wound around Saros’ waist so softly and he’d just slumped into Saros and he knew it was his turn to hold onto his commander this time.

From there? It had been a whirlwind of emotions. Jesse and Genji heard the news the next day and Jesse threatened to cut off Jack’s dick and feed it to the wolves. Genji offered his blade, said he could make it look like an accident. Gabriel had waved them off, saying he was alright, that he had a feeling it had been coming is all.

Saros could see how he looked away though, even if Saros wasn’t too sure about gauging body language yet, he could tell that his heart had been broken into a million pieces.

And yet, Saros and Gabriel started becoming closer than before. Their relationship seemed to flourish, and yet, still seemed at a pause. Gabriel wasn’t willing to cross the threshold into another relationship; Not to mention with one of his subordinates. It just felt like an imbalance of power, no matter how much Saros’ puppy dog green eyes got him.

There was always a tension that even Saros could feel when they were close to each other. He felt his own eyes flicking down to Gabriel’s full lips on multiple occasions, watched as he’d lick them and avert his own eyes as if Saros was killing him just by looking. Or when Saros would be in his space to learn from him- or if they sparred.

Saros had never yearned, or ached before in his life for that matter. And yet, all he wanted to do was let Gabriel Reyes do whatever he wanted to him and he would have accepted with a Thank You Kindly, Sir.

--

Saros’ own mind gets away from him reminiscing about the past. His eyebrows knit so briefly in a facial expression he can’t pinpoint when he remembers Gabriel is gone. The explosion- the screams- the funerals-

He flinches slightly, turning his gaze away and sighing to himself. Hatred and bitterness burned in his heart once again, replacing the nostalgic warmth he had been feeling. How cruel of a world to be able to take these beautiful emotions he once had learned and twist them into a fury he could not express. He missed the warm hands, he missed the dark eyes from across the room burning into him, he missed sneaking his own hand down his pants and being able to remember a face that would haunt him with lust rather than grief.

As Saros begins to walk down the sidewalk again, he can’t help but tune in to the sound of footsteps behind him. Far enough away to not be loud enough if he wasn’t paying attention, but he notes that they’re just after his own. Curiously, he takes a random left across the street, heading more downtown and in a back area that no one would usually take.

When he hears the footsteps following, that’s when his skin crawls.

Talon shouldn’t be in France- Overwatch had its recall but there wasn’t a crisis here- Vishkar? They wouldn’t be in France...would they?

His paranoia begins to escalate as he makes the mistake of starting to speed up now that he knows he’s being followed. The second Saros hears the person pursuing him speeding up, he quickly takes off into a sprint through the nearby buildings through their alleys to try and lose them. He’s consumed with a feeling he can name right as he feels it, something so familiar that even before he had come to Earth he had felt before.

Fear.

Just as his eyes scale a large wall in front of him to come to a dead end. Saros’ heart is pounding, turning his back to it to press flat to its surface. His eyes search the shadows frantically in front of him, chest pounding and lips parted to pant as he watches the body emerge from the shadows- as if the shadows were the very person themselves.

A white owl skull mask, leather clad body with a trench coat, the talons outstretching from gauntlets and the threatening appearance of shotguns withheld on their back.

The Reaper, someone Saros had heard about but only seen in news reports online or through the papers. He’d never seen the being in person. A ghost, of sorts, said to have a haunting and chilling voice and a deadly trigger finger. Shown to be working with Talon agents.

Talon...

Saros steadies his breathing, watching as this being takes well timed steps towards him. It’s slow, deliberate, and yet doesn’t feel threatening. It feels authoritative. Like this being was used to being in control.

Saros watches with an intense gaze, eyes slipping down the frame. Small waist, hourglass figure with wide hips and strong legs. Down to boots that stomp with purpose, a hip swaying with one leg dramatically, and following.

A flicker in his mind, starting to piece together the body, the sound of the boots, the way this being doesn’t even reach for its weapons-

“Gabriel-” Saros feels the name slip from his lips, a shot in the dark maybe. But it’s too familiar- it- it had to be!

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Comes the haunting voice as it is now only maybe a foot from him. Saros doesn’t realize his mouth has opened in awe, eyes widening as he pieces it together. This voice was still gruff, deeper and almost like three different voices talking at once in a permanent growl. Yet, it was still familiar. Almost...playful.

Regretful.

The slap across his mask’s cheek is well deserved from Saros. The Reaper turns its- no, his head to the side with the effort but makes no move to reach out to Saros. As always, let him come to him first, no pressure, no movement. Just slowly turning his head back to facing him as Gabriel keeps a healthy distance away.

An unfamiliar sob rips through Saros’ throat without his permission, a choked noise as tears gather in his eyes and begin spilling down his pretty cheeks. Gabriel’s heart twists, arm twitching and hand outstretching to the side until Saros gets the hint and dives for him. His arms wind around Gabriel’s waist like old times, squeezing him tight as Gabriel’s go around his shoulders slowly, one clawed gauntlet resting at the base of his neck and cradling the man to his neck softly.

“I-I thought you were dead! The news-  Overwatch- they said they found your dog tags. S-said that-” Saros’ breath is shaky, nosing at the fabric by Gabriel’s neck and inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon and dark chocolate- sensual and familiar. “They said that you were dead. I went to your funeral-”

Pulling away briefly, Saros keeps his hands still on Gabriel, staring at the mask with his brows furrowed in a way that reminded Gabriel of his own frustrated appearance. He could laugh, but he holds it in as Saros growls out in absolute grief, “You were ALIVE and you didn’t contact me!” Yet tears still stream down his face, no malice in his words, Saros’ facial expression seeming to try and find the right thing to set to.

“Not the place for this conversation,” Gabriel murmurs, so deep it rattles his chest and makes Saros’ expression drop into a momentary panicked look. “But...it is the time,” He reassures gently, pulling Saros softly back from him. “You remember the old base ‘round here? South- in the woods?”

Saros nods shakily, wracking his brain to remember the coordinates. It’d come to him once he passed by the old willow tree, that much he knew for sure. Watching Gabriel nod, he takes the hint and wipes at his own eyes with a sniff. “Yeah- yeah I’ll meet you there.”

--

How Gabriel had left into a swirl of dark mists is a deal between him and the shadows, as Saros quickly figured out. He took the time Gabriel had spared him to head back to his hotel room under a false name, gathering his stuff in the backpack he had and tossing it over his back. Getting to the base wasn’t too hard, it required a little bit of hiking and remembering before he found the old hideout. It was covered by a wooden plank and old leaves, you wouldn’t even second glance at it.

The door’s pass code comes to him from memory and the drop down isn’t too bad without using the ladder. But he hangs onto it briefly to be able to make sure the door shuts and is covered back up. He then enters a dark, long hallway lit with old lights in the ceiling. Dim now after years without use before he reaches the door at the end. Another pass code and he’s in.

This place looked like a little home. Couches, a kitchen, a staircase leading down to an armory underneath. A bedroom was around the corner, fit with clothing of many sizes to blend in with the crowds around, a bathroom connected with running water and a decent sized shower with toiletries to spare. Dim lights were implanted into the ceiling, the kitchen was small but still had food stocked in it in cans and boxes. There were blankets left on the couch, one with little dragons on it that makes him smile as he strokes his fingers across it fondly remembering Jesse holding it up proudly to Genji.

Saros does, however, see the figure slowly creep from the shadows and is reminded like a slap to the face of why he’s here.

It’s quiet between the both of them as Saros comes to sit on the couch, slouching and dropping his backpack onto the floor nearby and Gabriel taking measured steps to come closer. Gabriel, as always, does not push boundaries as he leans against the nearby wall, arms crossed and hip jutted out in the way he always did.

There is when Saros finds his voice, “Where have you been?” He seems to murmur to the ghost of a man, still not believing his eyes at how Gabriel appeared so powerful now. Yet, completely covered up. With the skin he could see, Gabriel’s once warm dark brown flesh seemed almost a dimmed color. Like he really was dead.

“Mercenary work.” Gabriel starts with a heave of a sigh exhaling from his lips. It comes out black through his mask, like they were apart of him. Saros’ eyebrows knit, opening his mouth to question him further but Gabriel continues. “You’ve probably seen the news- I know you’re not dumb, kid. I know you have questions about my involvement with Talon.” Even the very word makes Saros flinch and Gabriel’s heart sinks, wanting to reach out to him, but he keeps his arms firmly crossed to remind himself not to let his heart win.

“Talon is...another contractor, we’ll say. Not my home.” Gabriel clarifies, sighing softly and turning his head to the side to look towards the wall briefly as he tries to find his own words. “I...I didn’t mean to leave you behind- hell, I thought Jesse would have taken you with him to wherever he was going- I thought...” He trails off once again, sighing shakily and resting a clawed hand over his mask as if burying his face in his hand.

Excuses. He only had excuses. At least, that’s what it felt like.

How could he look Saros in the eye and say he had been a willing test subject for Moira? How Angela’s science experiment worked to bring people back from the grave? How Moira had harnessed something similar? How could he look at this man and tell Saros, who had been a victim of science experiments most of his life and turned into a weapon, that the same had happened to him?

Gabriel’s so caught up in his own thoughts he doesn’t hear Saros approach. Not until a gentle hand touches his shoulder and he flinches, jerking his head up to look at Saros who is holding an unreadable expression. Like he’s trying to find the right one to match his mood.

It ends up on almost fond and concerned. Eyebrows knitted and icy green eyes looking over Gabriel’s mask before his lips part softly, “I want to see you. Your face- I- I want...” He trails off as Gabriel slowly moves his arms to his sides, giving him free access as Saros’ fingers gently hook under the sides.

There’s only a brief moment where Gabriel’s hands come up, grabbing his wrists gently with the clawed gauntlets and making a strained noise in his throat. As if worried. “I don’t look the same like I used to, kid.” His voice is dripping with concern, but Saros pushes onwards. With the movement of the mask, Gabriel’s hands drop to his side, his hood falling back behind him and revealing most certainly the same man- but definitely different.

His hair was no longer cropped, now in beautiful inky black waves flowing down to about chest level and well taken care of with a side part flipping his hair to the side and curling on his high cheekbones. His eyes were no longer that lovely dark shade of brown, but now a vibrant red with slit pupils and pitch black sclera. His full lips, parted and showing the glint of a tongue piercing Saros remembered- but the sharp, deadly double set of canines he does not remember. All side effects of Moira’s experimentation dosages including genetic material based upon large felines.

His skin is duller, almost grayed out from its warmth. His facial hair is trimmed, lining around his upper lips and down over his chin in a thick goatee.

Saros thought he looked positively charming. Watching how Gabriel’s eyes flicker back and forth between his own, his lips starting to move to say something, but Saros moves quicker.

A gentle, warm hand comes to rest upon Gabriel’s cheek. Thumbing over his sharp cheekbone and drawing him forward so Saros could finally do what he longed to do after watching all those movies with Jesse. He kisses Gabriel, with such softness as his lips mold with his own. Saros’ eyes close and so do Gabriel’s, whose brows are knitted before he begins to smooth out. One clawed hand coming to rest upon Saros’ waist just as he begins to pull away.

It was the best kiss Gabriel had ever received.

He’s a bit disoriented, eyes fluttering open half lidded and looking at Saros like he’s not working properly. As if trying to get his system to boot back up just as Saros smiles shyly, eyes down casting and licking his own lips as if to taste the lingering flavor of Gabriel. “I...I wanted to do that a long time ago. My feeling for you are still the same- even if I am not sure what it is SUPPOSED to feel like. It feels...right- you. You feel right, Gabriel.”

Hell, Saros says it so soft that Gabriel is tempted to make sure Sombra didn’t do something to him before he left. Was this real? It had to be, Saros was there, he sounded the same, he’d been crying- God Gabriel felt like he was in his twenties again.

“I hope you feel the same-” Saros starts, voice anxious as his hand begins to pull back from Gabriel’s cheek. Uncertainty in his eyes that Gabriel promises to make up for as he lurches forward, cupping Saros’ cheeks in his hands and being mindful of his gauntlets as he drags him into a warm, deep kiss. Fit with both of their cheeks flushing and Saros making the most beautiful, soft moan in delight as he clings to his former commander.

--

There’s talk before Gabriel goes any further, murmuring into Saros’ ear that they could stop there and Saros making a soft noise in reply of, “No, have me, please-” And it takes all of Gabriel not to body slam him onto the couch and just have him. Just like that. He has enough sense to take him to the bedroom at the very least.

This is where Saros is now. His clothing lovingly taken off and Gabriel having stripped down enough with him. Losing the extras like his gauntlets, cloak, extra ammo packs- all of it. Down to just a skin tight leather tunic and matching pants with his belt across his hips. Saros notes how Gabriel’s hands are almost pitch black, smoking up and winding to about below his elbow, but he makes no comment.

He can’t, not really, not when Gabriel is fit between his thighs and taking his mouth again and again. Saros is sure he’s mapped out the way Gabriel’s tongue feels in his mouth by now, or the way his sharp teeth feel digging into his bottom lip. One of Gabriel’s hands is fisted in his hair, pulling sharply back and making the kiss break so Gabriel could suck another hickey below his jawline to match the rest darting up Saros’ dark flesh of his throat.

Gabriel’s long hair flutters as if a curtain to surround them both, smoke seeming to emit from different parts of his flesh as his mouth kisses its way down Saros’ chest. Finding his nipple and curling his tongue over the peak of it before taking it into his colder mouth to suck on it. The sudden pleasure makes Saros’ hips jump, his hard cock smearing across Gabriel’s abdomen but doing no mind to the man above him.

Gabriel’s hands are needy, all over Saros’ flesh to grab and to hold. Saros whines, starting to sit up, but suddenly black, smoke-like tendrils curl around his biceps and yank him back down. There’s a brief moment of pause where Gabriel kisses down to his bare abdomen, looking up at Saros as if to make sure that was alright. But seeing just how red Saros is and how he practically sobs out, “Please-” In that little whining tone that was all his to discover on his own, Gabriel knows it’s good.

Another snakes around Saros’ throat, not to choke, just to hold him still as it caresses Saros’ cheek adoringly. He looked a pretty picture, cheeks flushed, hair knocked from its bun and cascading to the side. His icy green eyes are darkened from how wide his pupil is as he watches Gabriel acutely. Whether to learn or just to watch, Gabriel isn’t sure, but it does make him grin faintly as he kisses along the v line of his hips. “Such a pretty little boy. How many times have you touched yourself thinking of me?” Gabriel’s own voice is a low growl, seeming to echo all in the room as he noses his way down through Saros’ happy trail to his curls.

“Every time,” Saros practically wheezes out, hips trying to stutter upwards but getting caught by Gabriel’s arm that locks over his hips to push him right back down. A sob bubbles from his chest then as he tries to continue, “Couldn’t th-think about anyone else.”  

It’s an honest answer, and a good one at that. Gabriel tries not to get touched by it the way he does, but he can’t help it. But, he distract himself, nosing at the underside of Saros’ cock and humming in approval at his size. “Poor thing...” He murmurs cruelly, toying with Saros who nearly lets out another sob before Gabriel licks up his cock from base to head. His free hand wraps around the base, massaging the length there with his thumb as he takes the head past his full lips.

Saros reacts just as expected with over sensitivity and his hips lurching upwards. He cums almost immediately with a pathetic, chest heaving sob and his entire body jerking with each jerk of his cock. He watches, amazed as Gabriel only parts his lips to let Saros see the mess left on his tongue before swallowing it and going right back to what he was doing.

Over sensitive, Saros reacts beautifully. Toes curling into the sheets and head throwing to the side but not going far with the tendril around his neck. His lips part in a loud cry, hips straining against Gabriel’s grip as he takes him to the root and swallows solidly around his cock.

In total, Gabriel makes him cum just like that again and again, for three times. He’s far past wet in his own pants, feeling the easy slide when Gabriel goes to sit up, moving over to Saros’ side to see him still shaking from his last orgasm. “Look at me.” Gabriel murmurs, watching Saros’ eyes flutter open on command and peering at him through his lashes. Gabriel’s heart twists, but he catches him by his chin in a rough grip, guiding him into a bruising kiss as he lies beside Saros.

The hand grabbing his chin soon moves down, briefly squeezing Saros’ throat and noting the delicious sound he makes- something he’d keep in mind for another time. His hand drifts back down Saros’ abdomen to soon grip his cock in a solid grip, still wet from his saliva as he begins stroking languidly.

The reaction is immediate. Saros’ relaxed kiss turns into his mouth parting in a sharp gasp, pulling back so he can shake his head as tears begin rolling down his cheeks. “Gabrie- Ga—Commander I can't- fuck- please, please I can’t!” He tries to sob out, chest lurching forward in an arch as best as he can in his bonds when Gabriel thumbs at the drooling head of his cock with a soft hum and a kiss beneath his ear.

“You can. Just one more, baby boy, give me one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?” His voice is a sin on its own, a low rumble in Saros’ ear who lets out the most beautiful, choked noise as tears pour down his cheeks. He sniffles, nodding vigorously and losing himself as things begin to float in the room.  

With one last dry orgasm, Saros is finally allowed to relax. In his stupor he hears Gabriel praising him, calling him a good boy and kissing him softly. There’s a wet cloth cleaning him up by the time Saros makes a soft hum of confusion and murmurs, “What about you?” Starting to roll over so he could find Gabriel who just tugs him to his chest and kisses the top of his head affectionately.

“’Nother time, kid. I promise you that.” Is the last thing Saros hears before he’s nodding off with a soft grunt of approval. It’s the best night of sleep he’s had since the accident, waking up in the arms of Gabriel and blankets thrown over them both.

--

“Why have you returned so soon?” Akande asks, brow furrows and arms crossed over his chest in clear disappointment at Reaper. A shrug is not a good enough answer, Reaper knows this, but he certainly does try it. Only to have Akande bare his pearly whites in a snarl. “I do not tolerate failure.”

Reaper laughs, haunting and multi-voiced as he does and crosses his arms to match the stance. His entire disposition screams at Akande to make his move, and when he doesn’t, it’s his turn to speak. “The kid wasn’t in France long enough and knows how to hide his trail. Try picking up on some factual information about where your targets are before calling me.” A low snarl to hiss right back.

But, Gabriel knows exactly where Saros is.

A similar tracker having been gifted to Saros the same way Overwatch had their recall system. A little skull symbol that looked like nothing more than a little keychain picked up in travels placed lovingly in Saros’ hand with a parting kiss and a promise uttered so softly in his ear.

“I won’t let you be alone again.”